A Darkness Descending
by The Jew in Gryffindor
Summary: A Book Five Fic with my character Rachel, the American Jew in Gryffindor. Please Read and Review. Chapter Twenty-Four is up!
1. The Beginning

Rachel had arrived back at the foreign ministries building in Diagon Alley. What a year it had been. There had been dangers, and deaths, yet Rachel couldn't wait to get back to Hogwarts. She had entered an essay contest, and been admitted as a Jr. Staff Judge for the ministry. Basically, her job was to research the ways the champions would solve the challenge. Her and three others. She had desperately wanted to help Harry, but had been unable to because she had to remain impartial. But that was behind her.  
  
She opened the door to the suite she and her parents lived in on the American level of the building. Her father, carrying her trunk, followed, then came her mother, who shut the door. David Jacobson, huffing and panting with the work, finally managed to slide her trunk into her room. He came back, wiping his hands on his pants.  
  
"Rachel? We have to talk."  
  
"I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"How can you not want to talk about it? You flew around for over an hour looking for those two boys! You nearly caught your death of cold."  
  
"Well, one of them caught their death."  
  
"And we brought all your friends so they could see you being a junior judge, and then the whole thing is ruined. Aren't you upset?"  
  
"Daddy! Of course I'm upset! Which is exactly the reason why I don't want to talk about it!" Rachel stormed into her room, and shut the door. She heard her parents talking in low tones outside her door, and listened for a while.  
  
"David, let her be. She just got back."  
  
"Rebecca, she could be depressed or something. I don't want to go in there one day and find out she slit her wrists or something."  
  
"David! From your lips to G-d's ears! Don't tempt fate. And just let her rest."  
  
"But I–"  
  
"David, David, just let's walk over here. Maybe you should go work on that case, hmm?" Rachel heard the sound of her mother toiling around. "Here. Have some juice. It's cranberry, your favorite!"  
  
"Rebecca, I am not a child. I'm your husband." But Rachel heard the sound of a glass being lifted. "But it is good."  
  
"Good. Now you just sit there, and I'll talk to Rachel." Rachel heard footsteps and darted away from the door.  
  
"Rachie? Rachie? Can I come in?"  
  
Rachel flopped onto her bed and let out a muffled. "Yes."  
  
"Rachel, I can't get in if the door is locked."  
  
"It isn't locked!"  
  
"Oh..whoops...turned it the wrong way again. I'm just..." Rebecca walked in and sat on Rachel's bed. "Worried about you. You had a very traumatic year."  
  
"Mom, I'm not going to kill myself."  
  
"Alright then dear just promise me not to act too depressed, your scaring your father. It isn't healthy for him."  
  
"Okay Mom." Rachel did act happier. In fact, she had been fine until she was hounded about it. She didn't bother unpacking her trunk, for they were leaving soon for their annual vacation in America. Rachel knew that while her parents stayed in the American Ministry building, in Washington D.C.,she would go back to her old school, the Eastern School of the Magical Arts in Baltimore, where she will partake in their summer camp program, which, because she is in a magical school, will still let her use magic. That little fact always made Rachel very happy. The flight back to BWI was a lot happier. Rachel was taken straight to Eastern from a subway in Washington, not using Grand Central Station as was done for the school year, but this one, because fewer students went to the Summer camp.  
  
"Rachel? Is that you?" Rosemary ran over and gave her a hug. "Ohmygosh! I can't believe it!"  
  
"Rosemary! I come EVERY year!"  
  
"Yeah...but...we went to Hogwarts at the end for that tournament thing–"  
  
"Rosemary, does everyone thing I'm depressed?"  
  
"No! You weren't depressed, but I was just–it was scary!" Rosemary's eyes widened underneath her spectacles. She was always the "innocent bookworm" in the bunch. She knew how it was, Hera was the Quadpot player who had grown up in a Muggle family, and Carley was pretty, a little ditzy, and obsessed with boys. Rachel was the one who already knew a lot of magic, and the Quidditch player. Rachel wished it was still like this, but, unfortunately, once her little posse had flown out to see her in her judging glory at the third task, it had all changed. Her parents had brought them all out to Britain, they had been so excited, so happy, and then...Rachel shuddered. Rosemary wrapped her arm around her.  
  
"C'mon Rach!" Rosemary tried to steer Rachel toward their house, Phoenix. The way Eastern was set up, there were separate buildings for each house. One on each of the corners, with the main building running through the middle, Quidditch and Quadpot fields on the sides.  
  
"Rose! Chill!" Rachel couldn't follow because she had the large trunk in her arms. It was a sturdy thing, made of some magical material which made it a little lighter, but it was still bulky and heavy from all the clothes. It was covered in patches and stickers. The Hogwarts crest, Eastern's crest, which was a silver five pointed star inside a gold circle, with another circle inside the star separated into four equal sections of red, blue, green and black. There were Gryffindor and Phoenix stickers, for Rachel's house, and blank stickers which her friends had signed. There were American flags, and Ron had tagged on a British one as well. There were silly stickers and badges that said things like:  
  
"QUIDDITCH- NOT FOR ICKLE FIRSTIES"  
  
or  
  
"KEEPER"  
  
or  
  
"AMERICAN WOMAN" That one had been a gift before she left. It had a very prominent place, next to her Star of David. Rosemary had lifted her end of the trunk and was exclaiming over it.  
  
"OOH! Look! This one is new!" Rosemary tried to gesture to the sticker signed by the Champions, but couldn't use her hand so feebly pointed her chin in its general direction. It had Victor's thick scrawl, Fluer's delicate squiggle, Harry's familiar handwriting, and Cedric's square, yet neat, script. Next to it was the one signed by all the judges, Rachel included. Maria St. Croix, one of the Beauxbaton judges had signed her name with a pretty little flourish in purple ink. Gregorian Mulchevski, Durmstrang judge had signed his name in the same heavy handed way as Krum. Christopher Vert, the other Beauxbaton judge, the one Harry and Ron remembered as "the cold git who had trouble opening the stairs that first night", was also Rachel's date for the Yule Ball, and had signed his name neatly and carefully, winking at Rachel as he added a little heart. Then there was Rachel's signature. Bubbly and round, and happy.  
  
They had finally reached Phoenix house. Its name was proclaimed broadly by the banners waving free, and when they reached the door, Rosemary summoned their other friend, Hera.  
  
"HER!" It was pronounced 'hair' much to the dismay of Hera herself. "YO! HER! Get the door before I collapse!" That was very un-Rosemary-ish, but Rachel decided not to comment. Hera reached the door looking breathless and excited, and, forgetting they were holding a heavy trunk, rushed over to give Rachel a hug.  
  
"RACHIE!" She squeezed Rachel so hard Rachel dropped her end of her trunk, rather painfully, on her foot. "I thought you weren't gonna come!"  
  
"I sent you guys a letter–" Rachel said this rather painfully as she tried to slide her foot out from under her trunk.  
  
"Yeah, but you missed the summer sorting. Got your badge?"  
  
"I never take it off." Rachel, trying to ignore the shooting pains in her foot, reached into her robes and felt the necklace around her neck. It was silver circle, with her name and house engraved around the edge, and a silver star in the middle of the circle, surrounded by red. All Eastern students wore these as a way of identification, with differing colors, houses and names, of course.  
  
"So–erm–could you let us in?" Rosemary had managed to keep up her end of the trunk and was trying to back her way in, but was unsuccessful.  
  
"Oh–yeah. Carley's in our room already, just so you know, trying to make herself look 'presentable'. I swear, if she was any more 'presentable' she would drown in that make-up." Hera opened the door and they slid it in. Hera helped them carry it up the stairs to the room that said.  
  
"TENTH YEAR GIRLS–SUMMER" Carley was in there, powdering herself in front of a pink mirror. It was very easy to see where each of their beds were. Carley's was very pink and frilly. Hera's had the quadpot posters, as well as some stationary ones, for the Baltimore Orioles, a baseball team, as well as the Baltimore Ravens. Hera was very into Muggle sports played in Baltimore. Rosemary's was surrounded by books. Piles and piles of books. On all sorts of things. Unlike Hermione, Rosemary also read fiction. Fantasy and realistic fiction, both Muggle and Wizard. History and practical, field guides and manuals. All sorts of things. She was like a mini-library, in fact, some of her books probably belonged to the library and were most likely due back soon. Rachel remembered having to constantly remind Rosemary to return her books. Then there was Rachel's spot. Her bed looked exactly the same, light blue with an airy canopy, but the spaces around her bed were empty. Rachel sat down on the edge.  
  
"If you didn't think I was coming, why is the bed here?"  
  
"The bed has been here forever." Carley says, without looking up. "Without it, the feng shui of our room was disrupted."  
  
"Oh. Ok then." Rachel opened her trunk. "Hello to you too Carley."  
  
"Rachie? That was you?" Carley raced over and gave Rachel a hug. "It is SO great to see you. I want to show you this book–"  
  
"Book?" Rachel didn't know Carley was one for books.  
  
"Yeah. This book about the hottest young wizards in Britain. I want you to look in it, and tell me if you know any of them."  
  
"Oh. Ok then." Rachel seemed a bit wary, then brightened. "I have more pictures!" Rachel slid a folder out of her trunk and opened it. It was filled with wizard photographs, all years of her life. She waved a wand and they attached themselves to the wall the same way she was used to seeing them, at Hogwarts and during the summer.  
  
"Oooh! Which ones?" Rosemary raced over. Rachel lit the end of her wand, causing it to cast off a pin-prick of blue light.  
  
"Well, I have this one, of the champions, and this one, of all the judges," Rachel pointed them out. "The Yule Ball, all the tasks...the two articles, a short bit in the Daily Prophet, and the one about me in the National Owl, though, why they would bother to write about me is an enigma. And, finally, I have the pictures of you guys at Hogwarts, and this one, from way back last summer, at the Quidditch World Cup."  
  
Carley looked over at the picture of the Yule Ball. "Rachie! You look SO pretty! And who's that guy? He's really hot!"  
  
"That was my date. He's also in this one, and that one there." Rachel pointed, then smiled. And he also signed my trunk." Chris was good looking.  
  
Hera had deeper questions. "You called it a Yule Ball. Didn't that make you feel–erm–uncomfortable?"  
  
"A little...but it was more of a winter ball, I guess. How did you guys hold up?" Rachel knew every little detail, because they had told her at Hogwarts, but she was just making polite conversation.  
  
None of them got to answer, however, as the door swung open.  
  
"RACHIE! YOU BE BACK!" Germany Stevens burst through the door. He was the Phoenix's official stand-up comedian. Searching for entertainment during quiet nights, Phoenixes would often gather in the common room and let him loose. He rushed over to Rachel, even though he shouldn't be in the girl's dorm anyway, and gave her a hug. He had aged well, and was quite handsome.  
  
"GERM!" Rachel ruffled his dark hair. He was called Germ, or Germy not only for his name, but because, when they were much younger, they thought he had some kind of disease, so they had to stay away from him to keep from catching it.  
  
Germany then rushed around, hugging each of the girls as if he had never seen them for years and years.  
  
"CARLEY! OHMYGOSH! LET'S GO LOOK AT PICTURES OF BOYS! THIS ONE IS SOOOOOOO CUTE!" He pointed to himself, and gave her a hug, then turned to Hera.  
  
"HERA! LONG TIME NO SEE! HOW YA' BEEN DOIN'? PLAYING QUADPOT LIKE THERE BE NO TOMORROW BABE! WATCH YA BLACK SELF!" He hugged her then rushed to Rosemary.  
  
"YO! IT BE ROSE-MARIE! WHATCHA UP TO HONEYBUNCH? READING? HOW COULD I HAVE EVER GUESSED?" He gave her a squeeze then turned to the rest of his friends who stood in the doorway.  
  
Peter "Big Pete" Shaw and Charlie Masterson backed away holding their hands up. Peter was a Quadpot champion like Hera, and Carley told Rachel that Charlie was becoming a really good beater.  
  
"You know...you guys...I don't think you should be here..." Rosemary cast a pleading glance to Hera, who walked over to Germy. Carley had confidentially told Rachel that she thought Germy liked Hera, but Rachel wasn't sure if that was what it was, or if she just intimidated him. Hera was tall, dark, and strong. She was a really good Quadpot player, and had a fast mouth, though she didn't speak much. She must have been at the end of her rope, because she was usually very nice, unless someone really did something that angered her. She walked very slowly up to Germany, and said in a low even tone.  
  
"I would leave if I were you. Before we all kick you back to your namesake."  
  
"Whoa girl! Chill out!" Nevertheless, Germany was backing away.  
  
Hera kept staring at him, her dark eyes fiery. She was a head taller then Germany, but then again, most people were. Germany looked at her, gave her a long lingering glance before rushing out the door, tugging his friends behind me.  
  
"I can't stand it when he torments me like that. It infuriates me that he must constantly make references to my race." Hera sighed and flopped on the bed. Hera and Rosemary had always been really good friends, Rosemary helping Hera with her homework, and Hera standing up for her. Rachel was beginning to wonder if the two of them had rubbed off on each other.  
  
"I don't know why it angers you so much, I mean, you two are the same race. It wasn't like Rachel or Rosemary or Me were doing it to you." Carley walked over and sat next to Hera.  
  
"Well, you guys are my friends, and I know you would never be so thoughtless. He just needs a good smack upside the head."  
  
"I second that." Rosemary piped up. She was checking that he hadn't ruined the organization of her books when he hugged her.  
  
"Awww! Hera!" Carley gave Hera a hug. Carley may not be very smart, but nicer girls were hard to find anywhere. "Rachie, come here, I want to show you these boys!" Rachel sighed and shook her head. She was definitely back in America, the way she remembered it. 


	2. Sought--yet lost

The next morning, Rachel chose what courses she would be taking over the summer. She chose Quidditch, obviously, Advanced Potions, acting, and maté. Maté (mat-ay) was the Wizard form of ballet and Rachel thought that it might help her with her Quidditch skills. Carley was taking Maté as well, though on a higher level, so she was surprised when she saw it on Rachel's schedule.  
  
"I didn't know you danced!"  
  
"I don't. I'm thinking it will help me with Quidditch."  
  
"It probably will. I love it. It's different then Muggle ballet. You use magic, but it is still challenging, more so in a way. Do you have the right shoes?"  
  
"Yeah. I told my parents I would be taking it, and they went out and bought them for me. Isn't it wild though?"  
  
Rosemary leaned in. "Are they really made out of glass?"  
  
Carley nodded. "Yep, and the thing is, as long as you have the right form, you can bend anyway you please. They make you flexible enough to do almost anything, but if you don't do it correctly, you get all messed up, so you have to start small. After working at it for a while though, you can do the moves without the shoes."  
  
"The shoes have a charm on them though, right? So they won't break?"  
  
"Of course! They are really pretty, and can be charmed to be different colors for performances. You're gonna love it!" With that, Carley slid out of her chair and danced her way out of the cafeteria.  
  
Rachel was not the oldest in her class. She wasn't the youngest either, not by far. She stood there, in her leotard and tights, very similar to the muggle ballet uniform, but she was about to find out how different the two dances really were.  
  
"Ok! Are we ready?" The teacher walked in. She was young and bouncy and happy. Carley simply gushed about her, but Rachel had never really known her. "I'm Professor Marks! Andrea Marks, your dance teacher! Why don't we introduce ourselves?"  
  
Rachel looked around her. The youngest girl was a seventh year, and the oldest a twelfth. They went around the room, introducing, then the bouncy professor clapped her hands and told them to warm up.  
  
"Warm up BEFORE you put the shoes on. It is very important! Now, stretch like this...." The class warmed itself up. People were flexible to varying degrees, which made it very interesting to watch.  
  
"Ok! Now put your shoes on and wait for my instruction to move." Rachel slid on her shoes and laced them up. For being glass, they were very strong. She sat there on the floor. The twelfth year muttered,  
  
"I don't have to take this." And stood up. Right as she began to move she let out an unearthly scream of pain.  
  
Professor Marks clapped her hand to her mouth in a very bouncy way, then cried out, almost joyously. "Our first cramp! Don't move! Any of you!" She rushed over in a very graceful way, and asked the twelfth year, "Where does it hurt?"  
  
The twelfth year mumbled, tried to point, then screamed again.  
  
"Don't move." The professor pulled out her wand, and started tapping joints. Then she untied the girl's shoes. "If you aren't going to listen to me, then you can leave this class." The Professor helped the girl up, then pointed toward the door. "Leave. I will talk to Headmistress Mason, and she will find something else for you to do. It is of upmost importance that you listen to me in this class, for Maté is a very dangerous yet beautiful art.  
  
The girl muttered something else then left. Professor clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Turn your heads slowly toward me. Very slowly, and I will explain what happened. Your shoes, while they grant you wonderful power and skill, have their little," She paused, ran her tongue over her lips, "'curse', let's call it, in that, all your movements must be graceful and preplanned down to the millisecond. If you break any of those two rules, your shoes will do their duty, and cause you unimaginable pain, and freeze your joints, which will trap you. The history of this form of dance goes very far back Originally, it was simply used as painful torture, and public entertainment, then it grew. People learned how to beat them, and thus, this elegant form of dance arose. Sort of like a phoenix, don't you think? Rising out of such a despicable place to become such an art form. Now, DON'T MOVE, and I will walk over and help you all up, and we can begin class."  
  
The rest of class flowed smoothly, as did Quidditch practice. Rachel only realized how much she missed Quidditch once she started again. However, she noticed one difference as she took her place at the goal- posts, and she asked Carley about it. She figured Carley would know, being as the girl was in everyone's business at one time or another.  
  
"Carley?" Carley had just come from dance class, and Rachel from Quidditch practice, so they were both a little hot and sweaty. Carley sipped at her flavored water before asking,  
  
"What huh?"  
  
Rachel wiped her face with a towel. Her Quidditch robes were very thick, and though they did have a cooling charm on them, they were still hot when flying around out there for over an hour.  
  
"Our seeker was missing. Do you know where Jeremiah Scanzetti is?"  
  
Carley dropped the bottle of water. It bounced a few times, then began pooling on the floor. Her eyes filled with tears, and she buried her wet face into Rachel's shoulders.  
  
"He–he–Rach–he–when the Sons of the Lord attacked the ministry building after the rise of Voldemort–he was there."  
  
Rachel could barely make out what Carley had just said through her muffled sobs. "Was he injured? Is he in the hospital?" Rachel knew Jeremiah's mother was a field specialist for the Magical Beasts division. She also knew that Jeremiah's father was a muggle.  
  
"N–no–I was dating him at the time–I gave a speech at his funeral."  
  
"Funeral? You mean he's–"  
  
Carley nodded. Rachel couldn't believe it. She remembered Jeremiah, two years older then she was, laughing and joking about the snitch. He had many names for that little golden ball, not all of them polite. Rachel just patted Carley's shoulder, and comforted her while she cried and cried. 


	3. Hidden Robes and Hidden Meanings

The rest of the camp rolled by seemingly without a hitch. Rachel helped bring the Phoenixes to victory in the summer championship, and was amazed at how much Maté helped her. In next to no time she was back in Britain, but this time she had a serious question to ask.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" Rachel stood in front of the door out of the suite and looked her father in the eye.  
  
"Tell you what?" Mr. Jacobson kept walking and sat down on the couch.  
  
Rachel followed until she was standing in front of him. "How long did you expect to hide it from me?"  
  
"Hide what?" Mr. Jacobson looked slightly confused.  
  
"People died dad. You couldn't hide it from me forever."  
  
"Oh." Mr. Jacobson's eyebrows knitted together. "I was worried–what that information–get hurt–your own good–"  
  
"Dad, I had to ask someone, and it turns out I asked Jeremiah's girlfriend."  
  
Mr. Jacobson flinched. "Well, now you know, don't you."  
  
"Dad! Stay there and tell me the whole thing."  
  
"Rachel–I."  
  
"Daddy, please. I have to know." Rachel folded her arms and dropped to the couch beside her father to hear the whole story.  
  
The day she was to meet Hermione, Ron and Harry was bright and clear. Rachel rushed out to meet Hermione, punctual, as usual, and they sat at Florean Fortescues, both eating sundaes. Hermione's was a strawberry raspberry with walnuts, while Rachel had a huge chocolate confection topped with whipped cream and drizzled with hot fudge sauce. Hermione was telling Rachel about her summer in Bulgaria, and Rachel was talking about Eastern. She was on the bit with Jeremiah when Harry and Ron arrived.  
  
"So anyway, I find out that our seeker died!"  
  
Hermione gasped. Ron said, rather loudly. "Harry's dead?  
  
Harry looked alarmed.  
  
Rachel turned around, and said in a flat voice. "Yes Ronnie dear, Harry's dead, haven't you heard? That should explain why he's standing right next to you."  
  
Ron ignored this, and instead clamped his hands over his ears. "ARGH! American! My poor ears!" Ron was commenting on Rachel's rejuvenate American accent, back with a vengeance after her summer in the states  
  
"Just be glad I'm not a New Yorker."  
  
"Why?" Ron's hands were still over his ears as he sat down next to Hermione. Harry slid in beside Rachel.  
  
"I have three words. Ten. Times. Worse."  
  
They all laughed and Harry and Ron ordered their ice cream. They relayed their summers again to each other.  
  
"So, Harry, managed to escape the Dursley's? And stay with Ron. I don't know if I envy you." Ron stuck his tongue out at Rachel and she poked him.  
  
"I still can't believe you get to do magic over the summer." Ron whined as he stirred and mashed his banana split into an almost inedible slush.  
  
"Well, if you went to a magic summer camp in America, you could too."  
  
"I think my eardrums would burst."  
  
"You would probably like it." Hermione put in. "Think of the learning experience."  
  
"You might even start talking like a yank!" Rachel smiled broadly.  
  
Ron cursed. "I better not, or I'd want my money back!"  
  
"It sounds interesting." Harry said thoughtfully, "and it might be safer because it is an ocean away."  
  
"Since when have you been concerned with safety?" Ron tapped Harry's head. "I think my mother is starting to affect you."  
  
"No–it's just–with the rise of Voldemort–" Ron flinched, "And the death of Cedric–I'm worried."  
  
"It wasn't your fault." Rachel was serious. She looked intently at Harry. He couldn't meet her gaze. "It's a tragedy Harry, but you can't beat yourself up over it."  
  
"Yeah–" Harry looked down at his vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce and studied it as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Hermione broke the silence by saying,  
  
"Come on! Let's get our supplies!"  
  
Rachel, Ron and Harry talked spiritedly about Gryffindor's Quidditch team this year, while Hermione scanned book titles. She sort of stood off to the side a little bit when they paid for their books and left Flourish and Blots.  
  
"We have to stop off at Madame Malkins. I need a new robe. My last one–" Harry trailed off.  
  
"Sure!"  
  
"And I have to buy new dress robes." Ron turned rather pink. "The twins gave me some money, Lord knows where they found it, but they told me to find something un-maroon."  
  
"Can do!" They all entered the shop. Rachel pulled Hermione over. "C'mon! We have to buy new dress robes!"  
  
"New? But mine is–"  
  
"Come on Mone, I wanna talk to you!" Rachel pulled Hermione into the section of un-finished dress robes waiting to be hemmed. "Were we leaving you out when we were talking about Quidditch?" Rachel knew it was a childish question, and turned almost as red as the satin robe behind her.  
  
"A little." Hermione studied the ground.  
  
"Sorry, won't do it again." Then Rachel started combing the racks. "You see, Hermione dear, you stunned everyone at the Wint–Yule Ball last year, now, you have to do it again, or they will think it is just beginners luck. Understand moi?"  
  
"Er–I guess so..."  
  
"I mean, neither of us are very shallow, right? We deserve a chance to feel pretty. And this time, I'll help you with your hair so it doesn't take three hours, because I know, deep in your heart, you would rather be studying."  
  
Hermione smiled. Soon they had their dress robes hemmed and pressed, placed into bags and were on their way.  
  
"What do they look like?"  
  
"Dress robes." Hermione held hers out of Ron's reach.  
  
"I could have figured that much out myself. But what do they LOOK like?"  
  
"I know what you look like?" Harry was grinning.  
  
"What do I look like?" Ron made a snatch for Rachel's, but she pulled it away just in time.  
  
"Uh-uh-uh," she shook her finger at him, "don't mess with a keeper."  
  
"Well Harry? What do I look like?"  
  
"A nosy git too concerned with his friends dress robes."  
  
Ron grinned. "Wanna see mine?"  
  
"Sure." Rachel looked at Ron expectantly.  
  
"Too bad!" Ron dashed away, and Hermione cuffed him lightly.  
  
"It's green." Harry said in a confidential whisper. "No lace cuffs for our Ron this time. He's going in style."  
  
They finished their shopping, and Harry and Ron found Molly Weasley, and Hermione's parents came and picked her up, and as they all walked off together, leaving Rachel on the steps of the ministry building, she couldn't help but feel a bit of remorse at how they got along together so well without her. Almost as if they didn't need her. Like they could get on without her. It surprised Rachel how much one troll in a bathroom could do for a person, but it surprised her even more that they didn't even look back. 


	4. A New Term...New Teachers

"Ready Rach?" Mr. Jacobson poked his head into the room of his daughter.  
  
"Yeah dad–just a sec." Rachel checked for the fifth time that her broom was still there.  
  
"Rachel sweetness, that broom isn't going to run away."  
  
"Yeah, I know–I'm just–" Rachel clicked the locks of her trunk shut. "Excited."  
  
"So I see. Come on, and give me that sucker." David took one end of the trunk and started dragging it across the floor. "Good lord Rachel! What have you got in this thing?"  
  
"That seventh level spell book is very thick–"  
  
"I'm just joking! So you're on seventh level now?"  
  
"Yeah. Instead of taking Divination I take advanced Potions and Charms with the older kids. Didn't you already know that?"  
  
"Yeah. It's just–your mother and I are under a lot of stress. The French minister is sick and she started practicing medicine again to try and help him. The only problem is, we have no idea what is making him ill. She is with him now, which is why she can't see you off. I've looked at him as well, to see if I can make a potion to treat his symptoms, but nothing seems to work." Mr. Jacobson wrapped his arm protectively around his daughter. "But, let's not worry about that, shall we? We better hurry, don't want to miss the train."  
  
Rachel and the rest talked on the train about many things. Rachel was so excited when she got to Hogwarts that she almost didn't hear McGonagall call her name. Finally Hermione nudged her and told her  
  
"GO!" In a harsh whisper and Rachel followed the Professor out into the hall.  
  
McGongall looked at Rachel for a while before speaking.  
  
"You are not in trouble, so don't think that. I merely have to clear up a few points with you before term begins. First of all, because you were the reserve keeper for Gryffindor, you are automatically entered as a person auditioning for the team. Second of all, you're requests for waiver from class for the reason of–" She looked at a paper, "Yo-om Kip-po-ur has been granted by Professor Dumbledore. You will receive more information as the date nears. Now hurry in, you'll miss the sorting."  
  
Rachel missed the song of the sorting hat, but saw most of the sorting. She was hungry though. She had eaten sandwiches and mountains of candy on the train, but she was still famished. She dug right into her meal, feeling happy to be with all the other Gryffindors.  
  
After the meal, Dumbledore stood up to make an announcement.  
  
"Now that you all have shoved your faces with the food in front of you, excellent nosh though, I have some people I need to introduce to the new first years." Dumbledore introduced every teacher that was sitting there, except one. "And finally, this teacher is new, I would like to introduce Professor Paige Randolph, our new defense against the dark arts teacher. Professor Randolph was once a Hogwarts student, and is now a dear friend" Professor Randolph was a tiny woman with overly large glasses and dingy auburn hair. It was rolled around her head, and, instead of making her look more respectful, she looked like a person with a basket on their head. She kept twitching, and giving involuntary jerks. Finally she spoke, with a very deep voice and a hint of a German accent.  
  
"I vas a Ravenclaw." She managed to speak, and Rachel compared her to Professor Flitwick, to find she was not much bigger then the charms Professor.  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat and all talk was hushed. "I have still yet to say. We all know that Voldemort has risen again–" flinch from Ron, near spasm from the DADA teacher, "and I would like to tell you that Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the country to be right now. And to third years and above, I would like to tell you that we will still go to Hogsmede, but proceed with only the upmost caution. That is all, off to bed."  
  
Once they were upstairs, Hermione whispered, "What did Professor McGonagall talk to you about? I didn't want to ask at the table because it was probably personal."  
  
"Well, all she talked to me about was getting a waiver from class for Yom Kippour."  
  
Hermione looked blank. Again. Why this child could read about nearly everything and not learn about the Jewish religion was beyond Rachel.  
  
"The time where you pray for forgiveness from your sins and to be inscribed in the book of life, and you fast. Remember?"  
  
"Oh yeah." Hermione yawned and hunted around for her toothbrush. "I remember now."  
  
Rachel began hanging up some clothes in the wardrobe so they wouldn't be wrinkled. All her work cloaks, her winter cloaks, her current dress robe, still wrapped up, and her old dress robe. It was a really beautiful thing, navy blue, covered with tiny little crystals that looked like stars. With her hair rolled up and crystals in that as well, she looked like the night itself. She placed that in the wardrobe, then came upon the thing she had been dreading.  
  
The robe fell in soft silver folds. One could easily imagine that it was an invisibility cloak, though, when Rachel and all the other junior judges wore it, they were anything but invisible. They had worn these beautiful robes for the tasks and photo shoots. And then there were the badges. Rachel's hand went to her throat, and she pulled out the necklace. Of course, it didn't start out as a necklace, it was a proud shiny silver badge, that said "STAFF" in cursive handwriting, and let Rachel and the other Junior Ministry Judges go anywhere (almost) to research anything. They simply had to show the badge and they got to read the restricted section, go to important meetings and learn top secret things. The badge was a sign of power. Then Cedric died, and Rachel stung the badge on a shiny silver chain, put it on, and decided never to take it off. Everyone had their own way of remembering, and that was hers. Rachel finished putting everything away, brushed her teeth, and went to bed. 


	5. A Very Important Morning

School was....well...school. It continued as it normally should, same as it ever was, except for DADA. The teacher was unlike any DADA teacher Rachel had ever had, and, after being through Quirell, Lockhart, Lupin and Moody, that was saying a lot. The first class, Professor Randolph was very precise in saying exactly what was going on. She took her place at a high stool in the front of the classroom, and waved her wand. The chalk floated up and began writing on the blackboard in a clear script, while it was doing this, Randolph spoke.  
  
"This year you vill learn about the inner vorkings of dark vizards. Technically, you should still be learning about various ghosts ghouls and goblins, but, times change, and Professor Dumbledore specifically requested I teach this class." The chalk stopped writing, and the class looked to see three words written across it boldly.  
  
SINGULAR GROUP RIOT  
  
Professor Randolph produced a long pointer from midair, and gestured to the words.  
  
"These," She said, in her squeaky German voice, "these are the different types of vays dark vizards attack. Singular–" She thumped the word hard, "means one dark vizard against you. Most of the time, you can get avay. Group," another thump, "means more than one vizard against you. Usually, they are not as angry as they can get. You should still try and get avay though, so you don't make them mad. When they get more of their friends, and get very mad, they form a riot," thump, "riots are very hard to stop, and usually, at least one person is killed. Man, voman or child, it doesn't matter. If you are in a riot, it is a crises, and you should try to leave immediately, and contact the ministry of magic. Basically, ve vill be discussing the way a dark vizard's mind works. There vill be lectures, and you are encouraged to take notes, as you vill have your O.V.L.s at the end of the year."  
  
Once they got out of the class, Ron was in a sour mood.  
  
"She's just like a mini-McGonagall with a German accent. She's all 'study my note because you vill have a test on them in you O.V.L.s!' We don't have O.V.L.s or whatever she called them."  
  
"She meant O.W.L.s Ron, and I found the class very informative. We should learn a lot this year." Hermione said, full of awe.  
  
"I want to know why she twitches!" Rachel stopped to adjust her book bag.  
  
"What a question." Harry remarked as they stopped in front of the transfiguration classroom. "What a question."  
  
Quidditch auditions quickly approached. The last few days before- hand, Rachel found she could not sleep. Rachel also didn't know wether it was good or bad that the auditions fell exactly on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish new year. Rachel tossed and turned, and finally, was woken by the light streaming through her window.  
  
"Happy new year." She said, devoid of emotion, to no one in particular.  
  
"New year?" Lavender was awake. That caused Rachel to start and nearly fall out of bed. "How can it be the new year in September?"  
  
"Jewish new year, Lavender."  
  
"You have your own new year?"  
  
"Yes. Why are you awake so early?" Rachel sat up in bed, and Lavender did the same. They stared at each other in the half-light, over the slumbering, and in Hermione's case, lightly snoring, of their two other roommates.  
  
"I could ask you the same question."  
  
"I have one word. Quidditch."  
  
"Oh." Lavender's eyes started darting about the room. "I have a one word problem too."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Do you promise not to tell?" Lavender looked like she was going to cry.  
  
"I promise." Rachel was worried.  
  
"Seamus." And with that, Lavender flopped back into bed, and muffled sobs could be heard.  
  
Rachel sucked in her breath, decided it was best not to further question, and got out of bed. She went to her trunk, slipped on her glass shoes, and danced until everyone else awoke.  
  
Rachel was antsy from waiting. She was filled with nerves for the whole day, barely paying attention in class. McGonagall noticed it, Rachel was sure, because the kerchiefs they were turning to kittens always seemed to be covered with cat hair in Rachel's case. The only class she managed to stay calm in was advanced potions, and that was because she had too. She was working with Lee Jordan, who understood her dilemma. Fred and George sat next to them, and were also sympathetic, one of the only times in their lives, too.  
  
"Nervous?" Lee asked as he measured out some bubotuber pus.  
  
"Yeah." Rachel put the pus to boil, which would caramelize it and create part of the serum they needed. "Really nervous."  
  
"Poor dear." Fred said, as he pretended to douse George with pus.  
  
"WEASLEYS!" Snape yelled. "FIVE POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR! EACH!"  
  
"That makes how much?" George whispered, pretending to count on his fingers.  
  
"I think it means one for each gallon of grease you could squeeze out of his hair."  
  
"You mean twenty three? Nah....I don't think so. Anyway Rachel, you shouldn't worry." George placed his caramelized pus in the cauldron that was off the heat.  
  
"Well, I'm just–I just really want to make it, you know?" Rachel added some cream of newt to her potion, and stirred it.  
  
"Yeah, we know, but you shouldn't worry. We are all rooting for you." Fred peered into his potion. "George, I think you cooked the pus too long."  
  
"Aren't you guys supposed to be impartial?" Lee peered into his potion as well, but sighed with relief.  
  
"Yeah but, you know us, Rachel and us go waaay back. I mean, without her, we wouldn't have been able to pull off a pretty nice caper. Remember?"  
  
"How could I forget?" But Rachel was laughing too much to be worried for the rest of the class.  
  
There was a letter waiting for her when she got back to her room after dinner, getting ready for the audition. It was a simple note, but it filled Rachel with joy to read. It went like this:  
  
Fred and George told me the auditions were today. I figured that you might be a little nervous, but we're all rooting for you. You were a great reserve keeper, and I'm sure you will be a wonder keeper for the team. Best Wishes of Luck,  
  
Oliver  
  
Rachel smiled, folded it up, then got her broom and went out to the Quidditch pitch. 


	6. Newfound Friendship, and a Rather Import...

She walked out to the pitch filled with confidence. She carried her broom with her. For many, it was the first time seeing Rachel's broom, and she wanted to surprise them. The Gryffindor Quidditch team were in the stands, except for Alicia Spinnet and George Weasley, who were hovering in midair in the center of the pitch. Angelina Johnson held a sheet of paper, and stood in front of a microphone.  
  
"When your name is called, please fly up to the near end of the field, in front of the hoops. You will be shot at ten times by Alicia, and George will knock bludgers at you. You will be judged on the number of shots blocked, number of bludgers avoided, and grace. Colin Creevy, you are up first.  
  
Rachel stood, under the stands, with the rest of the people auditioning. She went over to the group of fifth years. She was the only girl. Seamus and Ron were the other fifth years auditioning.  
  
"What kind of broom do you have?" Seamus asked, staring at hers.  
  
"Super Nova 2400. It's really a racing broom, made by Smith and Company." Rachel was proud of it, thought it was no Firebolt. It might be able to beat a Nimbus 2000, if the Nimbus was having an off day, but Rachel loved her broom, it had helped her so much before.  
  
"Smith and Company?" Ron raised his eyebrows. Rachel showed him the stamp underneath Super Nova 2400, where it said, in silver letters SMITH & CO.  
  
"They are the top American broom manufacturer. They don't ship out of country, and the have a rather unusual design." Rachel took off her tail cover. It was rather short, and fluffed out. From far away, her broom looked like a paintbrush.  
  
"What's with the tail? Do you need to get a new one?" Seamus touched the fluffy end on her broom.  
  
"No. The tail is what is unusual about their design. It compacts in the air to make it more streamlined, and beats through the air during turns to help control them more."  
  
"Oh." Both boys looked at it, then  
  
"Seamus Finnigan," was called, and Seamus, grabbing his broom, ran out to audition. From then on, Rachel was silent as they called the rest of the F's, G's, H's, and I's. Finally she heard her name.  
  
"Rachel Jacobson." Then Ron patted her on the shoulder.  
  
"Good luck." He whispered as she left the stands.  
  
"Ok Rach, understand the drill?" George smiled at her. The bludger was at the far end of the field, and rapidly rocketing toward them.  
  
"Yep." Rachel nodded, and moved to her place.  
  
"Then.....GO!" Alicia called. And began flying toward her with the quaffle. First shot, Rachel blocked. Not her best block though, she needed to be better. Second, blocked much better, front on and easy. Third block was a bit more difficult, and the bludger came at her. She tried a half starfish and stick, by dropping down low to block the quaffle and it worked. She was falling into the rhythm of Quidditch again. She managed to block the rest, with varying degrees of skill and grace, sometimes wanting to be better, sometimes satisfied, then the last shot was fired, blocked, and George said.  
  
"Very nice. The team list should be posted in a few days.. Thank you." Then he winked, and Rachel flew down to collect her things and go. She ran into Seamus. He was standing there, a bit awkwardly, holding his broom in his hands. Rachel had slid her broom into it's cover, and put on the shoulder strap, so it rested against her back.  
  
"Want to go for a walk?" Seamus asked, looking hopeful.  
  
"Sure." Rachel had done most of her homework, the rest could wait. She picked up her bottle of water, and followed Seamus outside the stands.  
  
The night air was cool and refreshing. For a while, they said nothing as they walked, then Seamus said.  
  
"I think I did miserably at my audition."  
  
"Don't say that! Don't be harsh on yourself."  
  
"You didn't see me. I was so nervous I missed one."  
  
"It doesn't matter! I mean, if you have the style they want, then you will get it."  
  
"You had the style they want." Seamus had stopped and was staring at her.  
  
Rachel blushed. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean that you were really good out there! Amazing. I was watching, once I finished my audition."  
  
"Really? Thanks. It was incredible to play Quidditch again, I mean, I played some over the summer, but European Quidditch is so much more involving."  
  
"What was it like in America?"  
  
Rachel talked a little bit about her summer, then talked a little bit about Diagon Alley. When she mentioned the whole thing with Ron and the dead seeker, Seamus laughed.  
  
"You're funny Rachel, but I've never seen that side of you. You are always really quiet like."  
  
"Well, I dunno, I mean, I think that when I came here, I was all quiet in the beginning because I didn't have a lot of friends, and felt really different, and everyone just accepted that. It's really rather sad, when you think about it."  
  
"Yeah." Seamus said slowly. "Yeah." Then he told her what he had done. He had hung around with Dean and Lavender for most of the summer, he told her, then asked if she could keep a secret.  
  
"I guess so," she replied.  
  
"Well, it's just, Lavender and I, we aren't working out." Seamus said finally.  
  
Rachel had heard the same thing from Lavender this morning, but pretended to be surprised. "Really? That's a shame."  
  
"I'm probably going to break it off soon, but I mean, it will hurt Lavender so bad, but I mean, she is just such a–nag! She wants everything her way!"  
  
"Oh." Rachel was really uncomfortable. "I guess–if that's what you think is right, then it is what you should do."  
  
Over the next few days, Rachel kept taking walks with Seamus. It was amazing. She had known him for five years, but the most she had learned about him had taken place during those five days. They had walked together up to the common room, to see it crowded with people. Fred was waving around a sheet of paper. He smiled slyly to himself, then stood on a table.  
  
"Friends, Romans, countrymen–"  
  
"Get to it already!" A sixth year called out in a jeering tone.  
  
"Fine. Without any further ado, Gryffindor's new and improved Quidditch team! Captain: Angelina Johnson! Chasers: Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet! Beaters: Fred Weasley and George Weasley! Seeker: Harry Potter! And–" Fred cleared his throat, "the moment you have all been waiting for–Keeper: Rachel Jacobson! Welcome to the team!"  
  
People were shoving Rachel to the center of the room. Fred offered his hand, and pulled her up. George was suddenly behind her and he yelled.  
  
"Ok! We said it! Now stop grumbling and go do your homework!"  
  
"Do their homework?" Rachel inquired.  
  
"Well, we had to get rid of them somehow, didn't we?"  
  
"Of course." Rachel smiled. She felt really happy, however, she was at a loss for words, so she just hugged them both and hopped off the table.  
  
Harry was waiting for her. "Congratulations!" He hugged her.  
  
She returned his hug, then asked, "But didn't you already know?"  
  
"Well, I vouched for you, but I didn't know how much my vote really counted."  
  
"You voted for me over Ron?" Rachel was amazed.  
  
"Well–keep it down." Harry blushed and looked around. "You played better–but–speaking of Ron, he's rather upset. You may want to stay away from him for a while. Training starts next week." He shoved a schedule into her hand. "Don't lose it. I'm gonna go console Ron." He blushed again. "Good bye." And he rushed off. 


	7. Yom Kippour

A/N: I use many hebrew words in this chapter. I have not defined all of them. If you want to know what they are, LOOK THEM UP!  
  
Yom Kippour dawned bright and clear, if a little cold. Hermione woke Rachel, saying she would be late for breakfast. Rachel, using almost all her patience, didn't strangle Hermione, and explained, rather grumpily, instead, that today was Yom Kippour, and she didn't have class. Hermione told her, in a matter-of-fact tone that she still had to eat breakfast, because it was the most important meal of the day. Rachel moaned, and said.  
  
"Hermione. I'm fasting, remember? I'm repenting for my sins and the sins of others, so I don't eat."  
  
Hermoine looked sheepish. "Sorry. I forgot. I thought this was the other one. The new year."  
  
"That's Rosh Hashanah, Hermione! You know child, sometimes I wonder..." Hermione swatted her. "Anyway, I suppose I should get up anyway." Rachel got up out of bed, and put on a casual robe. She followed Hermione down the stairs to the Great Hall.  
  
Rachel tried not to look at the food, though she was already hungry. She sat down at the Gryffindor table and waited for McGonagall to arrive.  
  
"Why aren't you eating?" Harry looked concerned. Ron, meanwhile, shoved a piece of toast in his mouth.  
  
"Yeah!" He said, spraying toast crumbs in all directions. "It's good. You're not an-an-anoreckic? Are you? Hermione was talking about those eating diseases."  
  
"Disorders Ron, not diseases." Hermione spread jam on her toast in a business-like fashion. "But she doesn't have one. She's fasting. Aren't you, Rachel?"  
  
Rachel nodded, but was staring hungrily at Hermione's toast. Her mouth watered, but she swallowed. "Yeah. I have to fast for Yom Kippour. Need to repent for my sins."  
  
Ron grinned and waved his toast around. "You sure one little bite wouldn't hurt?"  
  
Rachel grimaced. She wanted to so bad. Luckily, she heard a sharp voice call out. "Miss Jacobson! I need to speak with you please!"  
  
Rachel got up gratefully, and walked over to Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Miss Jacobson, Professor Dumbledore has taken the liberty to find you a synagogue," McGonagall pronounced it "sy-nay-go-go", but it was really "sin-a-gog" in which you can erm–" Professor McGonagall looked stern. "Worship." Rachel looked at her curiously. Since when had being Jewish been a crime?  
  
"You may want to erm–change your clothes. And, I–I'm sorry, but since you will be out alone, you will only be able to stay at this sy-nay-go-go for a few hours. You will be taken there and picked up at a designated time. Here is a map." McGonagall shoved a piece of parchment into her hands "Professor Sinistra will take you in ten minutes. Good day."  
  
And she walked off.  
  
Rachel had to walk by the Slytherin table to get out of the hall. Thankfully, Draco Malfoy had given up on her, and turned his attention on someone else. Teresa Berenson, a red haired fifth year with a fiery temper. Draco was saying something to her, and she looked ready to spill her pumpkin juice on his head. Why couldn't Draco just choose Pansy? Who actually LIKED him? Oh well. His problem. Rachel shrugged and left the hall. She heard a splash, and Draco's voice say indignantly  
  
"What was THAT bloody for?" But Rachel just kept walking. She went up to her room, and brushed her hair carefully, parted it, and secured it with little blue clips. She put a nice robe. Pretty, but not too formal. This wasn't a ball, after all. The blue fabric hung nicely, and Rachel smoothed it. It was a royal blue, covered with tiny gold flowers. Rachel slipped on a gold Star of David necklace, and went to find the arithmancy teacher.  
  
Professor Sinistra was in the entrance hall. "Do you have the map?" She inquired. Rachel nodded, that yes, indeed, she had the map, and the Professor took it from her. They walked to Hogsmede in silence, then apparated to the shul. [Synagogue, for all those who don't know. And, if you don't know what a Synagogue is, it is a Jewish Church...much as I hate that definition]  
  
"I guess this is it. Someone will come back to collect you." And with that, the Professor vanished, leaving Rachel at the doors of Temple HaShalom, or Temple of the Peace. She pushed open one of the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside.  
  
Since Jewish witches and wizards were so rare, all different religious sects were there. A minyan sat on the bima. Black-hatters with their long beards, reform witches in talitot and kippot. Small orthodox boys with pele and the fringes of their prayer shawls poking out from underneath their shirts.  
  
Rachel, a reform Jew, born and raised, slid a talit over her shoulders. She lifted a prayer book from a cart.  
  
For some odd reason, she ended up next to a tall man wearing a faded shawl and worn looking kippa. He was wrapped in tifilin, and was davening, didn't even notice her as she rocked back and forth, letting out a barely audible moan in Hebrew dotted with bits of French.  
  
Rachel was in her own little world. She no longer noticed her hunger as she prayed to be inscribed in the book of life for one more year. She prayed for Harry, Hermione, Ron, and on second thought, Seamus and Lavender as well. She said the mourners kaddish for Cedric, feeling tears burn the backs of her eyes as she finished the last verse. She was praying for all her friends in America when she felt a hand touch her arm. She looked up to see Dumbledore, wearing a kippa that he must have picked up on his way in.  
  
"This is utterly fascinating!" He turned around, taking it all in. "But I'm afraid, dear, you have to come back to school." Dumbledore took Rachel's arm, but, in doing so, accidentally bumped the davening man next to Rachel.  
  
"Yom Tov, good sir!" said Dumbledore, bowing his head slightly. Dumbledore was a very learned man, but, judging from his accent, this was probably almost all he knew how to say in Hebrew.  
  
"Are–are you Albus Dumbledore?" The man had a rough and gravelly voice, with a definite touch of French.  
  
"That I am." Dumbledore straightened.  
  
"May you be inscribed in the book of life!" The man clapped Dumbledore on the shoulder. Dumbledore, in turn, smiled and said  
  
"Same to you sir, but I have come to take this lady back to Hogwarts." No sooner had the words left his lips then smoke filled the air.  
  
"FIRE!" A woman in a long skirt called in many languages. "FIRE IN THE SHUL!"  
  
The smoke was spreading rapidly, filling Rachel's eyes, nose and throat, and the room was also dark with the soot. Rachel felt choked. She was blinded. She couldn't moved.  
  
"Someone save the Torah!"  
  
Then there was someone touching her. "Girl! Girl!" Rachel could barely make him out, but shaking her was the gravelly voiced man, kippa askew, two Torahs cradled in one arm. "You have to go! Get down, away from the smoke. I will stand, keep from dirtying the Torahs."  
  
"Give me one! I can apparate!" Rachel managed to choke out, in a voice much different from her own. In speaking, she swallowed too much smoke, and felt dizzy. The air was so clouded, and thick. The man looked wildly around, then thrust into Rachel's arm a Torah. She apparated out.  
  
She was standing there, blinking and coughing in the sunlight, when the Shul positively exploded in flame. Rachel, and everyone else, would never see, or hear, the gravelly voiced man again.  
  
Dumbledore was holding a Torah. He took his and Rachel's and handed them to a black-haired man. The man's hair and beard were streaked with soot and ash. Dumbledore's normally shining silver beard was covered in ash, and smelled of smoke. Dumbledore put his arms around her waist to hold her upright, and took her back to Hogwarts, first apparating into Hogwarts, then walking to the school.  
  
Rachel was taken to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey took one look at both Rachel and Dumbledore, and was speechless. Her mouth opened and closed for a moment, then she crossed herself and whispered  
  
"Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" Then she took Rachel and brought her to a bed.  
  
"I will go to my office, Poppy. However, I will return momentarily." And with that, Dumbledore strode off, still managing to look regal in his charred robes, though his eyes were dark and hard.  
  
Rachel managed to look in a mirror as she sat in the hospital bed. All her clothes were ruined, and what wasn't covered by clothing was black with ash. Her eyes were red and bloodshot. There were two streaks of pale skin down her face where she had cried.  
  
Madame Pomfrey returned with a potion in a little bowl. Rachel refused to drink it, stating that she was still fasting. She also wouldn't change out of her sooty robes. She didn't know why, but she just couldn't do it. Her mind kept returning to the gravelly voiced man.  
  
Dumbledore came in, wearing fresh robes, and a stern expression. Madame Pomfrey ushered him outside for a moment, where they spoke briefly. Rachel managed to catch some of their conversation.  
  
"Still in shock...won't take medicine...won't change her clothes..." Madame Pomfrey said, in a concerned voice.  
  
"Let me talk to her." Rachel heard Dumbledore say, and though his voice was soft, it was filled with a kind of controlled anger. He walked in and sat on her bed.  
  
"Rachel, that was not just a fire in that shul. It was arson. Death Eaters had targeted that shul today, because they knew there would be a lot of people."  
  
"But why?" Rachel's voice was hoarse, and she could barely speak. The inside of her mouth was black and dry.  
  
"That man, the one next to you,"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"His name is–was Johann Lepsitz. He is a very famous Muggle-born that is very adamant about Muggle and Muggle-born rights. He knew he was a target."  
  
"Why didn't he apparate out? He could have lived!"  
  
"Johann was a very powerful wizard, but an accident that happened to him as a child prevented him from apparating. He could do many other things, but he was well known for his lack of ability to apparate. The Death Eaters chose to burn the Shul, because they knew he would try to save others and never get out."  
  
"He–he saved my life."  
  
"I know, Rachel, I know. You have been blessed to have that man in your life, if only for a moment. Fate works in mysterious ways." He turned to go, but, right before he left, he said. "Poppy, I do believe you will be able to get her to take her medicine when the sun goes down. Until then, don't push, and just let her rest." With that he nodded, and went out. 


	8. After the Fire

A/N: This chapter is nowhere near as interesting as the last. A lot of sleeping. I apologize.  
  
Rachel sat there for a long time afterward. She stared ahead, thoughts whirling through her mind. Finally exhaustion took over, and she fell into the bed, and into a deep slumber.  
  
She awoke later, her throat seemingly on fire. Her head pounded. She suddenly remembed that she had taken her wand with her, and groped for it in her ruined robes. She found it, ok, but smudged with soot. Just then, Rachel heard a noise. A door was opening, and someone came in.  
  
"Madame Pomfrey?" She heard Seamus' voice call out. "Madame Pomfrey? Are you here?"  
  
Madame Pomfrey came out from a back room. She looked at Rachel for a moment, then turned to Seamus.  
  
"Yes, Finnigan?"  
  
"Well," Seamus looked uncomfortable. "Well, I, er–fell asleep in divination and cut myself on the edge of the table."  
  
"Ooh!" Madame Pomfrey made a fed-up noise. "Turn your head." Seamus' head turned, and Madame Pomfrey raised her wand.  
  
"JESUS!" Seamus exclaimed, and leaped forward. Madame Pomfrey, startled, shot something out of her wand. Rachel looked down and noticed a small puddle of ooze on the floor near Seamus, where she had been aiming for.  
  
"What is it Finnigan?" Madame Pomfrey snapped. She was livid. Seamus turned so that he was facing Rachel straight on. There was a cut over his eye, but he didn't care. "Rach?" He said in a soft voice. "Rachel, is that you?"  
  
Rachel nodded. Madame Pomfrey took Seamus' head, turned it, and healed his cut. She said, in a cold, yet controlled voice,  
  
"Finnigan, you are healed. You are free to go."  
  
"Bu–but what happened to her?"  
  
"Finnigan! You can leave now!"  
  
"Bu–"  
  
"Good-bye!"  
  
Seamus flailed hopelessly for a few moments, like a fish out of water before the nurse shoved him out the door.  
  
"Sorry about that, Miss Jacobson." Madame Pomfrey looked apologetic. "I'm sure he didn't mean to create a scene."  
  
Rachel tried to answer, but found she had lost all trace of her voice due to the mixture of thirst and smoke. She conjured herself a pad and quill, and wrote,  
  
"Why did you make him leave?"  
  
Madame Pomfrey looked flustered. "Well," she said finally, biting her lip, "you need your rest."  
  
In response to that, Rachel just closed her eyes and fell back alseep.  
  
It was late afternoon when she awoke again, yet the sun had not gone down. Rachel's throat was now beyond pain. She simply lay in bed and waited to slip back into sleep, but she heard a noise behind her.  
  
"Shhh! I think she's asleep!"  
  
"Is that really her? She looks so sooty."  
  
"I guess the only way we would know would be if she said something."  
  
"Well, Seamus said he saw her."  
  
"I hope she wakes up soon. I don't know how much longer Fred and George can stall Madame Pomfrey."  
  
Rachel opened one eye. Sure enough, standing over her were Ron, Harry and Hermione, with various shades of nervousness on their faces.  
  
"She's awake!" Ron peered down at her.  
  
"Well, she's awake now, you git. Probably woke her up." Harry leaned down. "Rachel? Is that you?"  
  
Rachel reached for her quill and pad, sat up, and wrote,  
  
"Yes, unfortunately."  
  
"What happened? Hermione was very pale.  
  
"I really don't want to talk about it." Rachel made the words very dark to emphasize them. "Why don't you ask Dumbledore."  
  
"Not talk about it! Not talk about it!" Ron was red now, and looked like he was about to smack her.  
  
"Stop that." Rachel wrote. "You sound like my dad."  
  
"Her dad? I think the smoke addled her brains." Ron was peering at her again.  
  
"RON!" Hermione smacked him. "How could you say that?"  
  
"Sorry." Ron looked sheepish.  
  
Hermione looked at Rachel. "You know, I was reading up on Yom Kipour, and you can break fast to take medicine."  
  
"Yeah." Harry said. "I saw her read the book. You can just do it Rach, and I think you should. I–no–we really want you to. We don't want you to be in pain."  
  
"I know I could if I wanted." Rachel scribbled hastily, "But I don't want too. Enough things have gone wrong today, and I don't know how breaking fast is going to help."  
  
"You'd feel better."  
  
"No, I wouldn't." Rachel was writing so fast it was nearly illegible. "I would feel even more awful, because I let Johann down."  
  
"Johann?" Harry looked confused.  
  
"Ask Dumbledore." Rachel had calmed down a bit now, but her head was pounding again.  
  
At that moment, Madame Pomfrey came in. She looked around at the three students standing around Rachel, and asked them, in a smooth voice.  
  
"Shouldn't you be in class?"  
  
"Nope." Ron said, proudly. "We're done for the day."  
  
"Well then, why don't you spend your free time somewhere else? This is a hospital wing, not a dance hall!" And she ushered them out. Rachel, being as she had little else to do, fell asleep again.  
  
This time she was awoken by Madame Pomfrey.  
  
"The sun is nearly down, dear. I'll have your medicine ready in but a moment."  
  
Rachel propped herself up so she could see out a window. Sure enough, the sun was dipping steadily below the trees. A few minutes later, the nurse returned with a small bowl of potion, and a pear.  
  
"I figured you would want something soft dear, and, after you've finished, you can go change. I'm keeping you here overnight just to make sure."  
  
Rachel looked out the window for a while longer, just to make sure the sun had really set. Then she lifted the bowl and downed the potion inside it. At first she felt like she would throw up, then a soothing coolness settled over her, as if she was being washed out, from the inside, by cool water. She felt like she had to cough.  
  
"Into the bowl dear." Madame Pomfrey said, then resumed the knitting she had been working on.  
  
Rachel coughed, and a small, perfectly round, ball of soot fell into the bowl. Rachel smiled apologetically, then placed the bowl back on the tray. She ate the pear slowly, knowing that, if you ate too much food, or food that was too rich, or even if you just ate too fast, you might be sick. Her mother had taught her well. She finished the pear, and Madame Pomfrey collected the tray and handed her a warm flannel night gown.  
  
"You can take a bath dear, then change into this. In the meanwhile, I'll clean up your bed." Madame Pomfrey helped her up, and into a bathroom. She drew the water, literally, by tapping her wand at the tub, and it was instantly filled with water. She set up a screen in front of the bath.  
  
"I'll be back to collect you in a little while. In the mean time, don't forget to scrub behind your ears!"  
  
The water in the tub was magic. Instead of turning black, it stayed clean and fresh smelling. It also dissolved all the soot and ash from Rachel without her having to scrub. She got out of the bath a little later, and was taken back to her bed. Madame Pomfrey fussed over the state of her robes.  
  
"Ruined! Absolutely ruined!" But with that, she left, and let Rachel sleep once more. 


	9. So THAT's Why She Twitches!

A/N: A few chapters back, I mention someone named Teresa Berenson. She belongs to my friend, Survivorbabe (read her stuff) and I forgot to mention that! **Whaps self** Anyhoodles, now you will know why Professor Randolph twitches. YEAH!  
  
When Rachel awoke the next morning, in time for class, she was given weak tea and watery oatmeal. Both with not a lot of flavor, yet easy to swallow. Rachel found she had no voice at all. Madame Pomfrey summoned some school robes for Rachel, since she could not get back to her trunk in time, and ended up having to wear a skirt. With knee-socks. Something Rachel had never done before, and had no desire to repeat. She wore pants under her uniform. Nice pants. Not boy's pants, but still, pants. And if she had to wear a skirt, it wasn't short. Not that this was a mini-skirt, but, well, Rachel wasn't crazy about her legs.  
  
When she walked into the advanced Potions she had that day, she got whistles from Fred, George and Lee. There was nothing she could say, being as she couldn't say anything at all. Instead she smacked them with her Charms book, and hoped they learned a lesson. They didn't, and complained to each other about how there were no morals in America, and that the girls clothing there was much too provocative. Rachel was about to hit them again, but the bell rang and she left for Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
  
Ron opened his mouth to say something about her skirt as she slid in next to him. Rachel hadn't known she had been thought of as so much as a tomboy. I mean, she looked good at the ball, didn't she? People had said they didn't recognize her. Though, in retrospect, there might be a bit more underneath those words. Did it mean she wasn't really pretty? Or that she just didn't try? Or was it that she was pretty but she dressed like a boy and that no one really knew how pretty she was until she got dressed up? She was going to continue mulling over it, but then Professor Randolph slapped the chalkboard. Everyone jumped.  
  
"Today ve vill hear a first hand account of someone vho has dealt with dark vizards."  
  
All eyes shifted to Harry, then a few to Rachel. Few could forget the time, last year, when nearly in tears she had recounted her experience with the Crutacious curse. Afterward, she had cried, and cried, and had to miss some of transfiguration before she was calm enough to enter, but no, neither Harry nor she would be sharing their experiences.  
  
Professor Randolph took a deep breath, and at that moment, everyone knew whose account they would be hearing.  
  
"My mother vas a muggle, and my father vas a vizard. My mother died of cancer shortly after I vas born, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Shortly after, while I was vith relatives during a vacation, my father was killed by anti-muggle vizards who were appalled at the fact he had married one. My relatives decided they liked me enough, but not enough to keep me vith them my vhole life. I vas sent to an orphanage in Germany, for muggle-borns and half-bloods. It seemed like a good idea, yes? No. I lived there for avhile, and it vas pretty nice, it helped keep us together, because things were segregated in Germany at this time, yes? Yes. Anyvay, shortly after that is vhere my story begins." She tapped the chalkboard again and a map appeared. She gave a violent shudder and nearly fell off her stool. The map showed Germany with many different colored areas.  
  
"Ve vere here." She tapped an area of the map. "An anti-muggle group of Nazi vizards came in one night, completely out of novhere, and stormed the area. Many vere killed. It vas a riot. Remember, riots you should not try and escape from. Anyvay, they decided to have a little fun vith me. First, they put me under the Imperio curse. After that, but not taking off the Imperio Curse first, they put me under the Crucio Curse. That magnified the pain, and, caused me to twitch and shudder the way I do. They ended up leaving us for dead and just going. There was no rhyme or reason to vhy they did this, other then the fact of vho ve vere. Now, I know that I did the right think. But I have been permanently affected. The reason I told you this story is because I want you all to learn about permanent effects from the attacks of dark vizards. I also told you this because I know that many of you vonder vhy I twitch." She smiled for a moment, then snapped back into her mini-McGonagall mode.  
  
"Now, turn to page tvo hundred tventy-three in your books, and take notes."  
  
After class, Ron, Hermione and Harry walked over to her.  
  
"We actually talked to Dumbledore." Ron said, his eyes shifting.  
  
"And he told us everything." Harry continued, looking at the floor.  
  
"And we wanted to say that we feel really bad." Hermione said softly.  
  
"And we didn't say anything to anyone. They don't have a clue that you were in the hospital wing, except for Seamus." Ron added hastily.  
  
Rachel nodded. At that moment, Seamus came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"I think we all should go for a walk" 


	10. A Holiday Gift

A/N: This is rather predictable at the end, I know. I'm a bad person...but it is sooo sweet! **sighs happily and melts**  
  
School after that flew by. Seamus, Harry, Ron, Hermione and a few of the teachers were the only other people in the school to know about the fire. There was an article about it in the daily prophet, with a picture of Johann that Rachel cut out and added to her collection, but there was no mention of any Hogwarts students being there. Rachel thought that perhaps Dumbledore had something to do with that fact, but didn't press.  
  
It was Halloween already. They were having a feast, and probably some dancing, but Rachel knew it wouldn't be as lavish as the Yule Ball. Rachel put on a nice robe, but kept her new dress robe hidden away, still in its bag from Madame Malkins.  
  
The feast was incredible. Instead of house tables, on giant large table was in the center of the room. People sat wherever they pleased. Of course, however, most people did stay with their own houses.  
  
Before the feast began, Dumbledore spoke.  
  
"I know that this is very different, having this large table, at a time when it would probably be more efficient to have separate ones, but I think that now, at this time, we should not be separate."  
  
There was some sniggering at the Slytherin part of the table, but Dumbledore ignored it.  
  
"I would like to emphasize togetherness, because there are hard times ahead, but, I would also like to emphasize fun and happiness, because this is a holiday, and you have heard me rattle on enough. So, without any further ado, carnation, peep and jitterbug."  
  
Food burst into the tables like a flower blooming very fast. It was very good. It was very noisy for a while in the Great Hall, with all the voices in a smaller space, and the clinking of forks and knifes upon plates, and spoons in bowls of soup. The many jack-o'-lanterns cast flickering shadows across the room.  
  
After the feast was over, the table disappeared and the floor was cleared. Music began playing from nowhere. Lavender came over and pulled Seamus away. Then a red-haired girl with fiery green eyes came up to Rachel.  
  
"Are you Rachel Jacobson?"  
  
"Yes." Rachel turned to face the girl. Teresa Berenson, the Slytherin. Rachel had never actually talked to her. "You're Teresa right?"  
  
"Right. I–uh, I have a favor I wanted to ask you."  
  
A favor? That caught Rachel's attention. What Slytherin would want a favor from her? "A–a favor? What exactly do you mean?"  
  
"I mean that–well, er–you know Draco Malfoy right?"  
  
Rachel snorted. KNOW Draco? How could she not know Draco. "Yeah–I know Draco." She said snottily. She didn't like Slytherins.  
  
Teresa looked hurt. "You don't have to be so mean you know."  
  
"Sorry–I've just had–bad experiences with–"  
  
"With Slytherins. I know. Everyone has. Myself included. I don't even know why I'm a Slytherin."  
  
"Er–ok..." Rachel didn't know what this had to do with anything, but let Teresa talk.  
  
"I mean the only reason I can think of is that I'm a little bit of a rebel and that I use cunning to play tricks on people."  
  
"You like to play tricks on people?" Rachel backed away.  
  
"Yeah, but I wouldn't do it to you. I need you."  
  
"Need me?"  
  
"Yeah. I need you to help me get rid of Draco. He won't leave me alone! How long was it before he stopped bothering you?"  
  
"Four years. After I made fun of him for being a ferret. Even now I'm not positive he doesn't like me. He backed off last year because I had a boyfriend–sorta."  
  
"How can you only sorta have a boyfriend?"  
  
"Well he was older then me, but he took me to the ball and–"  
  
"You mean that French guy?"  
  
"Yeah. Him. So, I suppose, my best idea to get rid of Draco would be to get a boyfriend. Even though I don't have one anymore."  
  
"It didn't work out?"  
  
"When do long distance relationships ever work out?"  
  
"Point taken. Now, for a boyfriend. I choose" Teresa spun around, and when she stopped, pointed to a boy. This boy just happened to Dean Thomas.  
  
"Ooh! He's tall! Who is he? Is he a Gryffindor? I like Gryffindors. Two of my biggest heros are Gryffindors!"  
  
"That's Dean Thomas. Who are your heros?" Rachel looked at Teresa. This just got stranger and stranger.  
  
"Fred and George." Rachel was not surprised. "Dean. Ok. Gotcha." Rachel watched in horror as Teresa went over to Dean and gave him a big hug.  
  
Dean turned around in surprise. "H–hello there."  
  
"Hello. I'm Teresa!" And with that, the two of them strode off.  
  
Rachel scratched her head and just stood there for a moment. Then she went to go find Harry, Ron and Hermione, but they were nowhere to be found. Rachel went over to the side of the room, and waited. What she was waiting for she didn't really know, but soon something happened. Seamus walked over.  
  
"Can I talk to you for a minute?"  
  
"Sure. But we better go outside. You can barely hear yourself think in here."  
  
Seamus muttered something to himself like "That can be a good thing" but followed her out. The grounds were very pretty in the fading light. Rachel, however, shivered in the crisp air.  
  
"Cold?" Seamus put his arm around her to warm her up. Rachel thought nothing of it. They were pretty good friends.  
  
"So what did you want to talk about?"  
  
"Oh" Seamus blushed, "Something–something special."  
  
Rachel wondered what that meant. She looked up at him. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, I dunno what I mean."  
  
"Is this more special then the time I told you I thought you were named Sea-mus?"  
  
"Yes. It's more special then that."  
  
"Good." Rachel smiled. "So?"  
  
"So–uh–" Seamus took Rachel and turned her so that she faced him. "So, I think you're really pretty and funny and nice and I–"  
  
He kissed her.  
  
Rachel was stunned.  
  
"So, er–what do you think?"  
  
Rachel blushed deeply. "But–isn't–isn't Lavender your girlfriend?"  
  
Seamus' face fell. "Yeah, I guess so. But it isn't really working out. I was going to end it."  
  
"Really?" Rachel looked at him. "Then I'll tell you what I think!"  
  
And she kissed him right back.  
  
She found she wasn't so cold after that. 


	11. Starcrossed Lovers

The next morning, Lavender was in tears. Crying buckets! So many tears that they woke Rachel up from her very pleasant dream. About Seamus, and a deserted island...ok, so perhaps it was best that she woke up.  
  
"What's wrong Lavender?"  
  
"Seamus and I–it's over!" Lavender sobbed even harder. "He broke up with me right after going on a walk. With–with you!" She spat out the words.  
  
Rachel's brows knit. She had to think fast. She didn't want Lavender to hate her. "I just took a walk with Seamus! That's all! He didn't say anything about you!"  
  
"Then what did you talk about?"  
  
Rachel chewed her lip. "We–we talked about the upcoming Quidditch match."  
  
"QUIDDITCH?" Lavender yelled as if she had just seen someone murdered. Then she cried even more. Rachel was afraid she was going to drown.  
  
"Lavender, calm down. There are other fish in the sea."  
  
"None like Seamus!"  
  
"What about Dean?"  
  
"I caught Dean and some Slytherin red-head kissing in the bushes. Like there was no tomorrow. Which is why I went to find Seamus–and found him walking with you!"  
  
"I'm telling you Lavender, nothing happened! We talked about Quidditch!"  
  
"Yeah sure!" Lavender sniffed. Suddenly Parvati sat up. She had obviously been listening to their conversation.  
  
"You little hussy! How dare you steal Seamus from Lavender like that?!" Parvati snapped. "And then lie to Lavender when she is already upset?"  
  
"I'm not lying!" Rachel lied.  
  
Hermione now joined in. Rachel was glad, because two against one just wasn't fair. "Rachel is a very truthful person. She wouldn't lie, would you Rachel?"  
  
"Of–of course not."  
  
"See. She's telling the truth." Hermione folded her arms primly.  
  
"No she isn't! LIAR!" Lavender shrieked. "I hope something terrible happens to you Rachel Jacobson!"  
  
Rachel was downcast the rest of the day. She tried to stay away from Seamus, tried to let it cool down between them and Lavender, but it didn't work. Seamus found her anyway.  
  
"Am I just being paranoid, or were you avoiding me Rach?"  
  
"I'm sorry Shay." Rachel said quietly. "Lavender was hysterical this morning."  
  
"I didn't know she was going to take it so hard."  
  
"She's blaming me, and I know it's probably my fault–"  
  
"It's not your fault Rach. Our relationship was doomed to fail."  
  
"There was a lot of screaming and yelling and carrying on and–I feel so awful!"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"I had to lie to them and they didn't believe me, but Hermione did, and she stuck up for me, and I lied and said I wasn't lying but they–Lavender said she wanted something bad to happen to me."  
  
"Oh. You poor thing." Seamus gave her a hug and kissed her on the cheek. "I feel so bad."  
  
"It's not your fault. But we'd better lie low for a few days, you know? Let Lavender heal a little bit."  
  
"Good idea." Seamus kissed the top of her head and they went their separate ways. 


	12. A Royal Beating...and Winning

A/N: Sorry it took so long my loyal **cough** forced **cough** readers. The musical took a lot out of me, not to mention writers block. I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but it makes up for it in pain. Poor Rachel.  
  
Quidditch season was starting, and Lavender wouldn't talk to Rachel, or Seamus, and gave them both dirty looks whenever they were near. It was very hard to live with her, because Rachel was in constant fear that one day all her hair would have been cut off in the night or that she wouldn't have any socks in her drawer.  
  
Fortunately, that didn't happen, but it did distract her a bit from her Quidditch playing, and the fact she couldn't openly be Seamus' girlfriend also didn't help her when she played keeper. However, even through all that, she still managed to play decently, so, when the first match of the season, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff rolled around, Rachel was ready.  
  
Gryffindor had gone all out for their Quidditch team in the means of supporting it. There were banners and signs. Rachel spotted a few American flags and felt instantly better. There were people rooting for her after all. She flew up to her place, and heard Lee Jordan start the commentary. She couldn't help it, but listened to hear what he said about her.  
  
"And the line-up for Gryffindor has changed only slightly since we last had a Quidditch match. Oliver Wood has gone, now to be replaced by American fifth-year Rachel Jacobson. She's got big shoes to fill, so let's see if the Yankee can keep up."  
  
Then he went on introducing the rest of the team. Rachel didn't hear any of it, she was still busy musing over his words. "Big Shoes to Fill." He obviously didn't mean Oliver had big feet, it's just that...could she do it? Could she be another Oliver? And then the "Yankee Can Keep Up" does that mean he doubted her? Rachel shook her head back and forth. She needed to have a clear mind. Pay attention she told herself, pay attention.  
  
A whistle blew. The game started. Gryffindor had the quaffle. She could rest for now. She paced a bit, back and forth on her broom. Possession changed. She stared down the opposition. Those three chasers, in robes yellow like gold. A gleaming sun. She wasn't going to be swallowed by the sun. She wouldn't allow it. They split up. They were going to shoot for one of the open posts. The one she wasn't guarding. She would have to be fast and intercept it. Left. Right. Center. Right again. She saw it. The right chaser's face hardened with concentration as he threw the quaffle. It seemed to be going to the left, but it was thrown with too much force, heading toward the left post instead of the left chaser. She flew in to stop it. Catching it, feeling it in her hands. No goal.  
  
She made several more saves, keeping the Hufflepuff's from scoring. Gryffindor had managed to score once. Defense was tight this game. Then disaster struck.  
  
It was an onslaught. All three chasers, and the two beaters, keeping a bludger between the two of them. Rachel saw what was coming seconds before it happened. And what happened wasn't pretty. Once one of the beaters got the bludger from the other one, he shot it toward Rachel. She had no time to react. It caught her right in the stomach, pulled her down, away from the goal posts. They scored. Fred flew over as the whistle blew.  
  
"Are you ok?"  
  
"Mmmph" Rachel half mumbled half moaned.  
  
"Erm...right." Fred looked around. "I was just checking. Anyway, they scored...but you're doing great."  
  
"Argmmp" Rachel said as he flew away.  
  
The game continued. Rachel made a few more saves, keeping the score down. Gryffindor scored twice more. She was still in pain, but it had lessened some. She hoped Harry would really catch the snitch soon, because she didn't think she would be on top of her game much longer.  
  
Oh no. They were coming at her again. How could they? All of them. Chasers and beaters. Ready to beat her flat.  
  
What had she done to deserve this?  
  
WHOMP! The bludger came at her.  
  
ZING! The quaffle was speeding towards her. Too close. To reach one she would have to be hit by the other. She reached out to get the quaffle, but no, it was slipping through her fingers. Slipping past her....somewhere in the distance she heard a whistle. People were flying toward her. The pain radiating through her was too intense. She closed her eyes.  
  
"You really got hit hard." Rachel was leaning against something warm. Her eyelids fluttered and she opened them. Everything was spinning, but she realized she was slumped against one of the twins. "Good thing Harry got the snitch in time."  
  
"Hmm?" Rachel didn't yet register those words.  
  
"Hang on. Don't pass out on me again until we reach the ground." 


	13. Dizzy Landings

A/N: Well, I should have combined this with the other chapter, but I didn't, because I'm evil like that. **sticks out tongue** so you just have to deal. Anyway, I think someone....one person, wondered why the Weasley twins are so nice to Rachel. They like her because she is different, and the fact that she helped them pull off a major caper in their first year. That and the fact that she hated Ron for a bit during her first year and they found that utterly hilarious. I think that's all now. Bu-bye!  
  
Rachel didn't remember coming down to the ground. Her eyes were half closed and everything was a dizzy blur. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She remembered hearing Ron's voice.  
  
"I think she's got a concussion! I mean, look at her eyes, they seem all out of focus and funny. Do you think she has brain damage?" His voice sounded concerned, but, in a way, curious as well.  
  
"She doesn't have a concussion Ron!" Hermione snapped, her voice unusually high and even more impatient. "She was hit in the stomach, weren't you Rachel."  
  
It wasn't a question, yet Hermione took Rachel's garbled gasps for air as if they were her entire medical history.  
  
"See Ron? She doesn't have a concussion."  
  
"She doesn't look good." Harry. Rachel could tell, the same soft polite voice, seemingly calm, yet Rachel could not see his face to see if it told otherwise. Someone was touching her face.  
  
"Rachel? Rachel? How many fingers am I holding up?"  
  
Rachel couldn't answer. She felt weak again and didn't even notice she was being held up the whole time until she felt herself sliding out of consciousness.  
  
"Whoa! Whoa!" The Weasley twin who was her pillar of support, literally, was grabbing her. "Hang on."  
  
"She needs to go to the hospital wing." Rachel assumed Harry was leaning in her face because she could feel his breath on her face.  
  
"Fred and I'll do it." Now the Weasley, who Rachel was leaning against, spoke, and Rachel managed to comprehend that it was George. Then he talked to her, in a slower, softer tone.  
  
"Now Fred and I are going to carry you, ok?"  
  
Rachel tried to open her eyes.  
  
"Okay now, Fred is going to put your arms around our necks and we're going to make a chair out of our hands. Do you follow us?"  
  
Rachel moaned pitiously. She felt her hands being lifted and placed against warm skin. 


	14. Lucky Undergarments?

The only thing she remembered about the trip to the infirmary was the pain. Every little bump or jolt sent fresh spasms of pain through her body. She remembered being placed on a bed, and then she was able to open her eyes. She saw Madame Pomfrey standing over her.  
  
"You, again? My dear, I think that you and your friends are quite accident prone. Now, what happened?"  
  
"She got hit in the stomach...with bludgers...twice." Fred and George said at the same time, slightly breathless from climbing the stairs.  
  
"Hmm...did she pass out?"  
  
"Yeah...and her eyes are all funny and stuff and she can't walk or talk."  
  
"She's probably slightly dazed, and in a lot of pain. Probably has a nasty bruise. Fred....or is it George? Can you take down her hair? Out of that bun? She's probably very uncomfortable. Now let's take a look." Madame Pomfrey rolled up her sleeves, waved a wand, and suddenly Rachel was wearing pajamas. Boy's pajamas, by what she could see without lifting her head. White button down pajamas with little blue stripes. She knew what was coming next.  
  
Madame Pomfrey gently started undoing the buttons. Even the gentle brush of her fingers sent new spasms of pain up her body. Fred and George started making ooh and aah noises as more of her stomach was uncovered.  
  
"That's some bruise Rach."  
  
"Yep. She's going to feel that one for a while."  
  
"Not if I can help it." Madame Pomfrey continued unbuttoning. "Do you boys have to be here?"  
  
"Yes we do. We're her bodyguards. Besides, Rachel doesn't get embarrassed easily, does she?""  
  
Rachel couldn't answer. She just closed her eyes. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.  
  
"Wait a–what the heck is that?" George asked. Rachel knew. Madame Pomfrey had stopped unbuttoning her, but at least one part of her bra was showing. Her lucky bra..  
  
"Why Fred, you shouldn't be looking at her brasserie!"  
  
"They can only see a little of it dear. It's quite nice though."  
  
"Are those cherries?"  
  
"Yeah Fred. Red cherries. On a pink background. She pulls it off very nice. Draws attention away from that nasty bruise."  
  
"I wonder where you can find such a brasserie?"  
  
"Hmm...seems American to me. Do you think mum would like it if we bought her one for Christmas?"  
  
"I want mum to buy ME one for Christmas!"  
  
Rachel could feel her face burning. She knew they couldn't see the whole thing, only the bottom, so it wasn't like she was flashing them, but still her lucky bra was a personal thing. The only people who knew about it were her roommates.  
  
Suddenly she heard noise behind her. "I cannot believe you two! Have you no respect for her privacy?! Wait outside!" Madame Pomfrey had returned. She had left to get the medicine and now held a small bowl in one hand and a brush in the other. She shooed them out, brandishing the brush like a weapon. "Boys." She muttered darkly, then sat on a stool that had magically appeared by the bed where Rachel lay. "Now this is going to feel a little odd. Might even be a bit painful. Just try and hold still."  
  
Madame Pomfrey stirred the substance in the bowl with the brush, then began applying it to Rachel's bruised and broken stomach and ribs in smooth even strokes. It dried instantly and hard like plaster. It was white. When Madame Pomfrey had finished, she stepped back.  
  
Rachel felt something. It was like someone had placed a Muggle vacuum over her stomach. It was rather painful at times. The process took about five minutes. Rachel felt her broken and cracked ribs being snapped into place. She also saw something amazing. The white plaster-like potion was turning the same color as her bruise. It had sucked her bruise away.  
  
Madame Pomfrey was now holding a chisel and tapped the center of the mass of hardened potion. It splintered, crumbled, then burned away into ash which then seemingly disappeared. Madame Pomfrey waved her wand and Rachel was back in her Quidditch robes.  
  
"That's all. Have a nice day!"  
  
Rachel adjusted her robes a bit then walked slowly out of the infirmary. She was still a little sore. Fred and George were waiting for her.  
  
"We decided." Said Fred.  
  
"That we feel like exercising our arms." Said George.  
  
"And carrying you the whole way." And the picked her up. The conversation was much better on the way to Gryffindor tower. Basically, Rachel told them about her lucky bra.  
  
"I mean, so many people have lucky socks and I wanted something different."  
  
"When did you get it?"  
  
"When I was in fifth form at Eastern. It was a present for getting on the Quidditch team. A gag gift really. But I thought it was funny, and they told me it was lucky, so I wore it to every game."  
  
"Did you wear it to the try outs?"  
  
Rachel giggled. "Yep!"  
  
"I still can't believe it." Fred said as they approached the portrait. "Pink with cherries. And you don't even really like cherries now, do you?"  
  
The party was great. Rachel had been to other Gryffindor parties of course, but this was the greatest in her opinion. Perhaps because so many people stopped to tell her she did a good job, and was really brave. She felt so happy. Ron had brought some food up from the kitchens, so they had eclairs and cookies and cakes and lots of other things. Someone had brought in a wizard radio and people were dancing. Suddenly Lee got up on the table in the center of the common room.  
  
"Could I have the members of the Quidditch team up here please?" Rachel was pushed over to the table. She and the rest of the team stepped up and surveyed the crowd. "Can we have a round of applause please?"  
  
The room erupted into cheers. The team waved and bowed and blew kisses. Then they slowly started getting off the table. Rachel saw Seamus in the crowd, near to the table. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Lee looked at the two of them.  
  
"Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!" He started chanting. Most of the rest of the crowd joined in. Rachel looked at Seamus. Seamus looked at Rachel.  
  
And he kissed her.  
  
Just then Lavender yelled "STOP!" at the top of her lungs. The room went dead quiet.  
  
A/N: Oooh...cliffie cliffie cliffie cliffie! 


	15. Lavender's Fury

Seamus and Rachel stopped kissing, and Seamus wrapped his arms around Rachel's waist in a protective manner.  
  
"What is it?" Lee asked, impatiently.  
  
Lavender had the strangest look on her face as she pushed through the crowd. She stepped up onto the table.  
  
"Seamus." She said, softly.  
  
"What is it?" Seamus looked at her, confused.  
  
"Seamus, I would let go of her if I were you. You don't want to fall any further into her trap."  
  
"Trap? Whose trap?"  
  
"Rachel's trap. I would watch out Seamus. First she sucked in Draco, then you," Lavender was counting it off on her fingers. "And then the Weasley twins."  
  
"What do you mean?" Seamus held Rachel tighter. "We all knew that she was just pretending with Draco."  
  
"That is what she told you Seamus. What if she had been lying all along? Besides, what about the Weasley twins?"  
  
"What about them?"  
  
Rachel was scanning the room. She couldn't see the twins anywhere. They must have gone down to the kitchens to get more food.  
  
"Well, she's got them sucked into her trap as well. She was showing them her bra in the hallway. They were talking about it. Very loudly, in fact."  
  
"Rachel is this true?"  
  
Rachel couldn't say anything. Tears started welling up in her eyes.  
  
"That wasn't what happened!"  
  
"Oh yes it was. You were talking about it loud and clear in the hall. Besides, I don't see the Weasley's speaking up for you."  
  
"They're not here!"  
  
"Oh yes they are." Lavender pointed. Heads turned to see the Weasley's standing right by the portrait hole. No one knew how long they had been there. Their arms were filled with cookies.  
  
"What?" Fred asked, confused.  
  
"Rachel tell me this wasn't true."  
  
"I can explain. It's not what you think!"  
  
"Rachel, I really liked you, but I guess I should pay more attention to the news. All Americans are the same. Lying, cheating filth." He let go of her and walked away.  
  
Rachel felt the tears springing to her eyes. She stepped down from the table. The crowd parted like the red sea, and she went into her room, her eyes leaking tears down her face.  
  
Rachel slammed the door behind her, locked it, and sat in front of it so no one could come in. Then she cried her eyes out.  
  
"Rachel? Rachel can you open this door please?" It was Hermione. Rachel unlocked the door, then ran to her bed. "Rachel, what the heck happened out there?"  
  
Rachel tried to explain. Her voice was thick and clogged. "It wasn't what you think happened. They saw the bottom of it. When Madame Pomfrey had to unbutton my shirt so she could fix my bruise. I don't even know how Lavender heard us talking unless she was waiting outside in the hall. I mean–I mean–you guys and the people at Eastern are the only people who know about it." Rachel stopped, then switched tracks. "Why do I always cry about things? I'm such a weak person!"  
  
"No you aren't. Come on out now. They've gone to dinner. Clean yourself up."  
  
"Hermione, I don't think I'm gonna sleep here tonight. I don't think I could stand to be in the same room as Lavender."  
  
"I understand." Hermione took Rachel's arm.  
  
No one talked to Rachel as she ate her dinner. She finished it rather quickly then went up to the Owlry. She didn't know why, but she felt that, at the current moment, most of the owls loved her more then most of the people. Rachel pulled on one of the leather gloves, and set out to find her owl, Presto Allegro.  
  
The medium sized fuzzy grey owl was sitting on a perch, hooting merrily to Hedwig. Rachel reached up and plucked him off, and set him on her gloved hand. His little talons dug into the leather, and Rachel carried him over to a cleaner corner of the Owlry.  
  
"Presto." She said, petting him with her free hand. "Presto, what am I to do?" She buried her head in his feathers, feeling their softness against his cheek. Presto hooted softly, then turned to look up at her with his deep brown eyes. His eyes had little flecks of gold in them, and looked at her with such love that Rachel almost started crying again. Owls had it so easy.  
  
The Owlry door swung open, and none other then Harry stepped in.  
  
"Hermione told me what happened. And she told Fred and George too. I think they are going to talk to Lavender."  
  
"What's done is done. Nearly all of Gryffindor saw her big–" Rachel paused, searching for the right word, "show. Lie. Whatever you want to call it. People aren't going to forget that." Then, in a softer voice. "Is Seamus really mad?"  
  
"Not really mad as much as–" Harry looked at the ground. "Disappointed. Sad. He really liked you Rachel."  
  
"I really like him too. But the question is, will he ever forgive me for something that wasn't my fault?"  
  
"I think Fred and George are going to talk to him too."  
  
"You didn't answer my question Harry. Will he ever forgive me something that wasn't my fault?"  
  
"We can only hope." 


	16. After the Owlry

Rachel stayed up in the owlry for a long time. It was very dark when she came back down, feeling her way down the creaky stairs. She was in for a surprise when she saw Harry, Ron and Hermione in their pajamas, sitting on the couch. Hermione held out Rachel's pajamas.  
  
"Go, change."  
  
"We won't look." Harry said, smiling.  
  
"We came for moral support." Ron grinned at her, then he and Harry turned their faces away and squinted their eye's shut so Rachel could change into her night clothes. When she was done she crawled under the warm blanket their had spread over the squashy, yet spacious sofa.  
  
"So what do we do now?" Harry asked, politely, staring out at the fire.  
  
"Well, you know, we could always play darts." Ron said, grinning evilly. "We can use Lavender's face for a target."  
  
"RON!" Hermione shrieked and cuffed him, hard.  
  
"Shhh!" Rachel said, she wanted to laugh, but still felt depressed. "You'll wake everyone else up!"  
  
"Sorry!" Ron said, sharply, "it was just a suggestion."  
  
"No, Ron, it's my fault."  
  
"You see Rachel, that is where your problem is. You blame yourself, first with Lavender, then with Ron."  
  
"No, really–"  
  
"Let's talk about something else." Harry suggested, and turned to them.  
  
The rest of the night was spent commenting on the twitching teacher, Snape's greasy hair, and how ugly and desperate Lavender was.  
  
They only had a few hours of sleep, not that it really mattered. The next day was a Sunday. They were all woken up by Fred George and Lee, who had decided that the best way to get someone up was to jump on top of them. Feeling a little better, yet a little sore, Rachel changed into some real clothes and went down to breakfast.  
  
She almost burst into tears again. People were staring at her. She could feel their eyes on her back. She stuck unusually close to Hermione, fearing Lavender, Seamus, or worse, both together. She did run into Seamus. She braced herself and decided she had to talk to him.  
  
"Seamus?"  
  
Seamus didn't look at her. His lips were moving but no sound came out.  
  
"Seamus, did Fred and George talk to you?"  
  
Still no answer. Seamus was getting red in the face.  
  
"Seamus, it's not my fault."  
  
Seamus' voice was at a whisper, and getting louder. Soon he was screaming at the top of his lungs.  
  
"SHE ISN'T HERE! SHE DOESN'T EXIST! I DON'T SEE HER! SHE IS NOTHING! SHE ISN'T HERE!" Over and over again until Rachel, tears flying down her face like winged drops of warmth ran from the hall.  
  
"I cannot believe him." She said as she talked to Hermione later. Hermione had adapted well to her role as peer mediator and psychiatrist and handed Rachel a tissue, but the next statement she made crossed the line.  
  
"Maybe you're better off without him." She said, almost perkily. Rachel dropped the tissue.  
  
"How can you think that?! We may be fighting, but he'll come around."  
  
"You don't know that. I mean, if he really liked you, he'd believe you."  
  
Doubts were starting to form in Rachel's mind like clouds before a hurricane, but she pushed them away. "I don't want to be alone." She whined. It was true. One of the things Rachel hated more than anything was being alone. It scared her so much.  
  
"It's not THAT bad."  
  
Oh, but it was. Rachel knew this didn't really apply to true "alone- ness" which was different from loneliness. Someone could be lonely in a room full of people. To be alone, you had to be really, alone. Separate. Cut off.  
  
The worst things happened when you were alone. 


	17. Alone

Monday morning dawned like any other Monday morning before it. Cold, dreary, and with a general feeling of lethargy and procrastination in the air. Rachel moaned and rolled out of bed. The room was cold, but in more ways then one. Though the freezing floor stung Rachel's feet as she hopped about, getting ready, what hurt more was the sense of divide between the four girls.  
  
When Rachel and Hermione were both dressed and ready, they headed downstairs for breakfast, trying not to look at Lavender and Parvati whispering furiously behind them.  
  
The first class they had was history of magic, Rachel's worst class. She actually paid attention, this time, to get her mind off other matters. She looked at Seamus once, and was shocked to see him returning her gaze with a stare. She blinked, and he looked away.  
  
Then came potions. Rachel was less worried about this class, even with Snape. Mixing some potions may be relaxing, and perhaps she could whip up something which would cover Lavender with boils.  
  
"We will continue working on our energy potions. They have been sitting over the weekend, and are now ready for you to add the–"  
  
Rachel didn't hear him. She felt strangely lightheaded, and free. She shook her head back and forth for a moment.  
  
"What's wrong?" Ron was looking at her.  
  
"N-nothing." She heard herself say, though she wasn't aware if she was really saying it.  
  
The lightheaded feeling was sinking through her, causing her scalp to prickle. It felt nice though, like she had nothing to worry about, and everything would be taken care of. It reminded her vaguely of something, but she couldn't remember what. She thought she might go to the nurse, but, then again, nothing was really wrong, was there?  
  
"Rachel?" Ron was staring at her. She didn't look well. Her face seemed paler, and her eyes dull. She just stood there, not answering him.  
  
Nah, didn't need to go the nurse. She was fine. Perfect health.  
  
"Rachel?"  
  
Who was that? Who was talking to her? That scary red haired boy. Who was he? She felt a blackness creeping up behind her. She felt like embracing that blackness, pulling it toward her, a blanket of dark, warm, safeness, free from pain and problems. So that was exactly what she did.  
  
Ron saw Rachel fall a second before it actually happened. He saw her eyes blink a few times, and saw her start to sway. He wanted to ask her if she were alright, but she had been ignoring it the other times. Then she actually did fall, eyes closed, body limp.  
  
It seemed to happen in slow motion. Ron reached for her, and, not being the most physically fit person he knew, she took him down with her. It was due more to surprise then strength, because Rachel was very light. So, Ron found himself in a very interesting position, back on the ground, face on it's side, staring at the dirty stone floor, and Rachel's body, weak, and limp like water, covering him.  
  
Snape looked up. "Mr. Weasley, must I take house points? What is this foolishness?"  
  
"It's not foolishness Professor!" Neville's face was pale. "It's–it's"  
  
"Spit it out boy!" Snape was losing his patience.  
  
"Rachel Jacobson."  
  
"And what did SHE do? I do hope that it is nothing inappropriate. I have heard she is at a loss for human companionship, but it appears she and Mr. Weasley–"  
  
"She fainted Professor."  
  
"What?" Snape strode over. Indeed, Rachel was collapsed over Ron, who was being very patient considering he had a teenage American lying across him. Snape leaned over, placed a hand on Rachel's forehead. He frowned and drew it back sharply in alarm, then bent down, picked her up, and carried her hurriedly from the room, an anxious look on his face.  
  
A/N: Sorry these two chapters were so short. I should have combined them, but you know me, evilness is my existance. La cliffe! 


	18. The Blaze is Catching

Snape had never been put in such a position before, but he knew what he had to do. Even if the girl was American, a Gryffindor, and a friend of Harry Potter, he couldn't deny her what she needed most. Medical attention. The child felt like she was on fire!  
  
He finally made it to the infirmary, and dropped her into the bed.  
  
Madame Pomfrey had her back to the both of them, scribbling something on a piece of parchment. "Who's there?"  
  
"Severus."  
  
"Severus?" She said with a hint of confusion in her voice. "What are you doing here?" She still hadn't turned around.  
  
"A student of mine collapsed in class. I had to carry her up here. This is urgent."  
  
Madame Pomfrey dropped the quill and pad as she turned around.  
  
Meanwhile, in the dungeon, students were beginning to understand what had just happened. Hermione rushed over as Harry helped Ron up. Ron was rubbing his head where it had hit the stone floor rather hard.  
  
"Oooh." He muttered, still rubbing. "What happened?"  
  
Hermione rushed to Ron, grabbed his head and started peering at it.  
  
"What are you, my mother?" Ron asked, trying to twist out of Hermione's grip.  
  
"You could have a concussion!" Hermione said, struggling to hold tight to Ron.  
  
"Yeah, and you could have a brain missing!" Ron started smacking at Hermione's hands to get them off of his head. Finally she let go.  
  
"I'm just...worried." She said, quietly.  
  
Harry, who had been watching this all with a worried expression on his face, decided that the best thing to do would be to quell their fears. "I'm sure she'll be ok."  
  
"NO." Hermione and Ron said at the same time, then stared at each other. Both tried to speak, and finally Ron pointed to Hermione.  
  
"Ladies first?"  
  
"Well," Hermione began. "Rachel was really upset about that whole Seamus thing...maybe," Hermione swallowed "maybe she decided to take it into her own hands."  
  
This took a moment to sink in, then:  
  
"Why do you think Rachel would kill herself?!" Ron's face was getting red.  
  
"Well, not kill herself perhaps, but make a statement maybe, get some attention."  
  
"Attention? Since when have you known people like Rachel, OUR FRIEND, to get attention by trying to kill themselves?"  
  
"Ron." Harry tried to touch him, but Ron moved away. "Ron, relax."  
  
"I was just trying to be logical." Hermione seemed close to tears.  
  
"That's not logic!"  
  
"I would like to see if your idea is any better." Hermione snapped, then moved away from Ron.  
  
"Rachel, before she..erm...fainted was looking at me like she didn't know me. I think that." Ron closed his eyes, trying to think. "Perhaps she had a bad reaction to a Confundus charm?"  
  
"But who would confuddle her?" Harry asked.  
  
All eyes turned to Lavender.  
  
"That's ridiculous!" Hermione sputtered. "She probably just got sick."  
  
"You were singing that tune a minute ago." Ron said, glaring at her.  
  
"Stop." Seamus was standing there. No one had noticed him walk over. Hermione and Ron had been too busy arguing, and Harry, watching them argue. "Right now you shouldn't be fighting. You should–"  
  
"You're one to tell us what we should be doing!" Ron turned to Seamus. "After you and Lavender publicly humiliated her."  
  
"Listen." Harry said. "For all we know, Rachel was just tired, or a little sick. There is nothing to worry about."  
  
Just then, Snape walked back in, and they started up class again, people refusing to look at the spot where Rachel once stood.  
  
Days passed, and none of the students were allowed to see Rachel. She hadn't woken up. They were told she was contagious. Draco, after hearing that, went around frightening first years by telling them they would be infected with the American "disease". Hermione began stock piling homework for Rachel, to do when she woke up. She kept it in a folder that she carried around with her. Lavender was convinced it was her fault Rachel was sick and went around sobbing to anyone who would listen. Ron actually sat through her little speech once, and now she was following him. They were using the reserve keeper for practices now, Seamus Finnigan, who was terribly quiet now. Classes went on, and Harry and Ron were strangely reminded of their second year, when students were being frozen. At least then there was a cure.  
  
A Hufflepuff third year collapsed in their herbology class. Then two days later a Ravenclaw passed out. Now people were really worried. Madame Pomfrey had been sending nervous letters out, and she thought she knew what was going on.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore?" Madame Pomfrey asked as the headmaster surveyed the infirmary. "I don't think you should be here, don't want you getting sick, but I have to talk to you." Madame Pomfrey picked a letter off a table, then ushered Dumbledore outside.  
  
Loosening the mask she had started wearing around the delirious fever- ridden patients to try and keep the germs from spreading, she handed the letter to Dumbledore.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, I have been talking to some colleagues of mine, and I have some terrible news. Have you heard about the French Minister?"  
  
Dumbledore's blue eyes suddenly dimmed. "Yes, Jacques was a dear friend of mine. It's a shame he grew so sick. No one knew–" He suddenly looked up, and shook his head. "I should have seen it sooner. They–the students–they have it too, don't they."  
  
Madame Pomfrey nodded slowly. "At least that is what I think. I was talking to Dr. Rebecca Jacobson, who was taking care of Mr. Lunaire."  
  
"Jacques."  
  
"Yes, Jacques Lunaire. She said that the potions embassador–"  
  
"Her husband."  
  
"Yes, David Jacobson, was unable to craft any potions to help him, and that she tried her best, and couldn't find anything, and the symptoms match up. We've been corresponding."  
  
"Do they know that their daughter is sick?"  
  
Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "I couldn't tell them that. Besides, Rebecca is so busy trying to keep it from spreading, because, she says this, in her own words." Madame Pomfrey scanned the letter. "'It is of upmost importance we don't let this get out, because we have on our hands a spark set off in a brown field. We have to make sure it doesn't catch.' And, Professor Dumbledore, I think that we have a small blaze starting already."  
  
"Dumbledore nodded. "If anyone else falls ill, we will have to put Hogwarts under quarantine. There is no other way." And as he walked slowly down the hall, Dumbledore was muttering to himself. "He suffered so much before he died. Poor, lonely, suffering Jacques."  
  
A/N: Like? Hate? Tell me! 


	19. Shalom...and other forms of stress relea...

A/N: I know, I know. I'm bad. It's just, oh, I dunno, stuff happened and I lost track. Here am I, ready and faithful to deliver what my..**counts on fingers** three loyal readers REALLY want. **looks at three loyal readers, who exchange glances and run in the opposite direction** Oh well. Maybe next chapter...  
  
All was quiet for a few weeks. However, with the exception of the students in the hospital wing, all seemed normal. Dumbledore had decided not to tell the students about the one fatal encounter that the French minister had, had with the disease, preferring instead to keep the morale of the school raised. Hermione, though, was starting to show a bit of strain. First she had looked through all the magical medical books she could get her hands on. Nothing. Then she switched tracks completely. She was sitting in the library one day, during lunch, when Ron stumbled upon an interesting find.  
  
"Are you ever going eat lunch with us again, Hermione? You've looked through all the books three times over!"  
  
"I'm not reading a MEDICAL book, Ron." Hermione said, with a bit of contempt.  
  
"What are you reading then?"  
  
Hermione closed the book, and tilted up the cover so Ron could read it.  
  
"Crikey Hermione! "Let's Talk Hebrew"? What the heck are you learning Hebrew for? Rachel can't even speak it fluently!"  
  
"I plan on learning at least a little. Besides, what harm could it do? It will probably help me in Runes class."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Why what?"  
  
"Why are you learning it?!"  
  
Hermione shrugged. "Can't hurt, can it?"  
  
"That's not what I'm asking. I want to know what on earth prompted you to go out and find a book entitled 'Let's Talk Hebrew'!"  
  
Hermione reddened and muttered something Ron couldn't hear. Then, sighing, she slid the book into her bag and stood up. "Come on." She said quietly. "The bell is going to ring soon. I can't be late for Arithmancy."  
  
Ron shook his head as Hermione slipped out the door.  
  
"She's seriously gone bonkers, Harry." Ron remarked as Hermione sat, tracing the alef-bet onto her transfiguration homework.  
  
"I heard that!" Hermione said. And looked at them, raising her eyebrows. "How much Hebrew can YOU speak, Ronald?"  
  
Ron blushed. "Uh..un..Slalom?"  
  
"It's Shalom!"  
  
"What do I care?" Ron shot back. "We don't need Hebrew, eh Harry?"  
  
Harry looked to the both of them, staring at him expectantly. Finally, he snapped. "I don't know, ok? Ok? Why is it that I always have to break up the fights? It's always Ron or Hermione or Ron and Rachel or Rachel and Hermione and I'm sick of it! Why do you always need me to solve your problems? Since when did I become the UN?! Huh? It's not enough that every second I have to be worried that I'm going to be killed now, is it? No. Instead I have to solve your petty problems every five minutes! WHY!?"  
  
Hermione and Ron blinked a few times and exchanged glances. Finally Hermione slid her book into her bag and Ron shifted from foot to foot.  
  
"Sorry Harry." Hermione and Ron said at the exact same time.  
  
"I know we're being petty." Ron said, face red as the setting sun.  
  
"It's just...we're stressed."  
  
"I know." Harry looked at the ground.  
  
"Did..did you really mean all those things that you said?" Ron asked, after a few seconds of awkward silence.  
  
"Yes Ron. I'm afraid I did." 


	20. An Unraveling Thread

The three of them were rather cold to each other for a few days. Then some interesting things started happening.  
  
"I don't want to go to potions!" Ron was moaning to no one in particular.  
  
"You have to go." Hermione said.  
  
"Says who?" Ron snapped, glared at Hermione and turned away.  
  
"The whole school! The whole school says you have to go Ron. OK!?" Hermione was so angry she tripped on a stair and sent her book bag crashing to the floor. It opened, and out spilled papers, ink, quills and several books. Quite a few of them were on Hebrew, Judaism and Jewish culture. Ron reached over to pick one up, but Hermione grabbed it and shoved it into her bag. "Let's just go." She said quietly as she moved past the laughing faces, her arms clasping her book bag to her chest.  
  
Potions was as normal as potions could be. Currently there was only one missing from their class, and Draco chose to make snide comments about Rachel's absence.  
  
"Looks like the mudblood is losing it without her yankee doodle friend." Draco said, calmly pouring out his powdered dragon fang into the vial.  
  
Hermione was Neville's partner, and unfortunately, Hermione could never pull herself together with potions. She always seemed..well, spastic. All her other classes she was ok, turned everything in on time, did all her work, but in potions, she was just not well. This was the first time Harry or Ron hadn't been her partner, and neither one of them was surprised when the vial of powdered fang was dropped accidentally. Harry noticed Ron was flinching, and muttering.  
  
"No Hermione. Not today. Please."  
  
But it was too late. Hermione's caldron fell, due to her nerves and Neville's natural grace. It landed on the floor with an echoing bong and powdered dragon fang flew everywhere, landing in the eyes of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. They began to scream in pain.  
  
"Miss Granger, you obviously cannot conduct yourself in my class. Twenty five points from Gryffindor. Messrs. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, please go to the infirmary."  
  
Hermione had her hands over her face, hiding the shame and the tears.  
  
Madame Pomfrey was nearly at her wits end. The moaning of the three students was now unbearable, after all the treatments she had administered had failed. She had stepped out for a moment to take a break when the three Slytherin fifth-years came up. They were moaning as well, and fitfully rubbing their eyes, but at least they were walking. And conscious. Madame Pomfrey loosened her mask. "How may I help you gentlemen?"  
  
The first one, Draco Malfoy stepped forward. "That bloody Gryffindor! Granger! She got powdered dragon fang in my eye! And his eye!" Draco pointed fervently. "And his! And it really bloody stings!"  
  
Poppy could have kissed them. Finally! Something she could fix! Heal! Mend! "Stay right here. I don't want you coming in with all the sick students." It was only three, but since the disease was so mysterious, it was probably best that they stay outside. Tightening her mask, Poppy went inside to get the cure.  
  
"Hermione, it's not the end of the world." Harry was looking deeply into Hermione's face, trying to get her to meet his gaze.  
  
"I lost house points! Again! Why does it always happen to me?"  
  
"It's nothing to worry about." Ron said, hovering over them nervously. "I mean, it's Snape! He hates everyone that isn't a Slytherin. You, me, Harry, Rachel..."  
  
Hermione burst into tears.  
  
"What's wrong?!" Ron hissed. "You need to stop that! We're still in class you know. Snape isn't going to be writing on the board forever."  
  
Hermione was sputtering. Finally, she reached into her bag and pulled out a crumpled and wet piece of paper.  
  
"These better be tears." He remarked sourly as he unfolded the letter. "Wait a minute! Hermione, this is Rachel's letter! It's her private stuff!"  
  
Hermoine shook her head bitterly.  
  
"Just read it." Harry said, patting her shoulder. "Out loud. I want to hear it too."  
  
"Fine." Ron cleared his throat, and read, in a whisper  
  
"Dear Rachel,  
  
Sorry I haven't written for so long! Your father and I have been very busy with Jacques Lunaire the french minister. He has fallen ill with a mysterious disease, and your father and I have been trying to help him. It was quite odd really. One day he just fainted, and he didn't regain consciousness. He still functioned however, and appeared to be in a lot of pain. Your father and I tried many, many things, but nothing seemed to work. We considered writing you, but decided not to trouble you too much. We wanted you to focus more on your schoolwork then on some Frenchman you barely knew, though I think you did get to speak with him at that dinner party. Anyway, and unfortunately-" Ron dropped the letter.  
  
"Did it just end?" Harry asked, as he picked it up.  
  
Ron's face was as white as a sheet. He shook his head, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly.  
  
"You know, it sounds like that Frenchman had something like Rachel had. Do you think she caught it from him?" Harry pondered as he opened the letter.  
  
Ron nodded, then closed his eyes and looked down at the floor.  
  
"What's so-" Harry scanned the letter. His eyes stopped. "No. No no. That's not true. That isn't happening!" Harry ripped up the letter, balled up the pieces and burned them under his cauldron. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe what those words had said. Jacques Lunaire hadn't died. He hadn't. He was alive and well, wasn't he? Rebecca Jacobson was just playing a joke! And Rachel wasn't going to die either.  
  
A scream pierced their awkward silence. Everything was happening so fast. Why was it so fast? Now it was slow. A girl was falling in slow motion. Another girl...Lavender Brown, was screaming her head off. A long, high-pitched frightened scream. Professor Snape was turning around, the chalk falling from his hands.  
  
They would find out later that the girl was named Teresa. They would find out later that she had talked to Rachel during halloween. They would find out later that Draco had liked her. They would find out many things later, but right now they were concerned with what was happening now.  
  
Her body bounced off the stone floor a few times before everyone realised what was happening.  
  
Lavender was still screaming, her voice unearthly and high. Harry was amazed she could still breathe. Ron was staring at that girl's red hair. He was fixated by it. It reminded him so much of his own. His sister. His brothers.  
  
Hermione's mouth was open, but no words or noise were coming out. She was screaming inside her brain, and it was the most nerve racking scream she had ever experienced.  
  
Snape finally got the gist of what had happened. Struggling to remain calm, he put a spell on her body to send it to the hospital wing. He didn't want to go with Teresa, because he was scared of what would happen if he left. He was, and most unfortunately for some of them, the student's last hope right now, and he would have to be strong and support them. And he would also have to shut that Gryffindor up.  
  
Seamus clapped a hand over Lavender's mouth. More startled by the movement then by the action, her mouth closed as well, and Seamus retracted his hand. Then they all started staring at each other.  
  
Teresa's body floated up the stairs. Had anyone actually been there, they would probably been quite frightened. But, no one was there, and her body floated peacefully away.  
  
Madame Pomfrey was finishing up the last boy, and about to send them back down to class when the girl's body floated up to them.  
  
"TERESA!" Draco cried, rushing out of Madame Pomfrey's grip.  
  
"Stop it!" Madame Pomfrey held him still as she administered the rest of the cure. The other boys had already left back for class. She let go of the last boy as she went to tend to the girl.  
  
Madame Pomfrey was rushing down the stairs. Her mask was half falling off her face and her bun was coming undone. She felt as though her word was tumbling down around her. She was a grown woman. She was supposed to help people! But she felt like an unraveling thread that was down to its last.  
  
She arrived at the door to the dungeons shaky and sweaty. She had to stand outside for a few moments to catch her breath and work up enough courage to open the door.  
  
"I have some unfortunate news for you all," she began, anxiously rubbing at her red face. "Draco Malfoy has taken ill." 


	21. Quarantine

Dumbledore's strides were quick, yet regal as he made his way down to the great hall. He was flanked by Madame Pomfrey, her hair askew and her face red.  
  
"Honestly Professor, is this really necessary?"  
  
"I'm sorry Poppy, but I don't want this to spread."  
  
"Well, if you do intend to-" Madame Pomfrey looked round sharply, to see if there were any students around who weren't in the great hall like they were supposed to be, "If you intend to do what you plan on doing, Professor, I hope you won't leave me up to this task alone. I'm going to need help."  
  
Dumbledore stopped in the hall, and looked at her. He rubbed his beard for a moment in thought. "Fine." He said finally. "Just make sure they can come as quickly as they can."  
  
The nurse gave a quick nod and rushed down the hall.  
  
Dumbledore slowly strode into the Great Hall, and looked at all the students. Some were anxious, some were bored, and the first years just looked terrified.. A few of the Hufflepuffs were whispering, but shut their mouths hurriedly as their headmaster approached.  
  
"I'm sure many of you are wondering why I called this meeting." Dumbledore gave a feeble smile, but it was pale and thin, and it showed his exhaustion, and the loss of the twinkle in his eye. "As many of you may know, some students have been falling ill with a strange disease. Unfortunately, this disease is quite rare, and relatively unheard of. We, at Hogwarts, want to try and keep it that way. Therefore, due to the fact that two more students fell ill today, a Teresa Berenson of Slytherin, and a Draco Malfoy, also of Slytherin, we have decided to quarantine Hogwarts. All trips off campus will be canceled, and both students and staff are not allowed to leave the premises. If anyone outside of Hogwarts happens to fall ill, he or she shall be brought here for treatment. Due to the fact that you or your pet may be carriers of this disease, no more letters can be sent out. However, I regret to inform you that wether you catch it or not is no longer up to you. There currently is no pattern in who falls ill. Classes will continue as planned, and I offer you my upmost apology that you will not be able to go home during the holidays."  
  
It took a moment for that to sink in. Then the room positively exploded.  
  
"We're rats! Rats caught in a bloody trap!" Ron moaned over and over again. "We're going to die here!"  
  
"We're not going to die." Harry said, but Ron would not stop moaning.  
  
Finally Hermione squirted ice water at him out of the tip of her wand. "SNAP OUT OF IT!" She screeched, and doused him.  
  
Ron shook his head back and forth. "Thanks. I-I think I needed that."  
  
"It's a shame I can't send out letters anymore." Hermione said dreamily. "I wanted to write the Jacobson's and find out how a real family celebrates Channukah."  
  
Ron stared at her, his mouth open. "What's wrong with you? We're trapped like rats in a trap and all you can think about is Channukah?"  
  
Hermione said something to Ron that sounded very mean spirited. However, whatever it was couldn't be detected. It was in Yiddish.  
  
"Yeah, well, same to you!" Ron shot back.  
  
"I'm losing my mind!" Harry screamed to no one in particular. "I'm losing my mind!" Then he turned to Ron and Hermione. "WILL YOU TWO PLEASE SHUT UP?"  
  
Meanwhile, similar things were happening all over the great hall. Pansy Parkinson was weeping uncontrollably at the fact that Draco was sick, and Crabbe and Goyle still seemed slightly shocked that their fearless leader wouldn't be returning. Lavender was sobbing into Seamus' shirt. Seamus appeared dry-eyed, though obviously uncomfortable. He tried to slide out under Lavender's grasp.  
  
"Um..Lav?"  
  
"Yes Seamus?" Lavender managed to pull her head out of his shoulder. She lifted her tear stained face so that he could see all the mascara streaks. Then she plopped it right back down again.  
  
"Lavvy, that really hurts."  
  
"It does?" Lavender asked in her most innocent voice. "Oh, I'm so sorry Seamus, I'm just so scared!" And she started crying all over again. Seamus simply sighed and rested his chin in his hand.  
  
Dean wasn't faring as well. He had buried his head in his arms, and was weeping silently. However, it was not because he wasn't going home for the holidays, though that saddened him as well. It was because Teresa was sick. Neville patted him on the shoulder comfortingly, but was worried himself. What if something happened to his grandmother? What if she got sick? What if she died? He was shaking. He would never know if that happened. Wouldn't be able to leave. He tried to take a drink of his pumpkin juice to calm himself down, but his shaking hands made him drop the cup.  
  
It shattered, sending dark rivers down the floor, which looked like muddy blood.  
  
Dumbledore saw this, and shook his head. A weaker man might have broken down as well, watching his entire school transform into a shivering, crying mob. "You all..." he said, to get their attention. "You all are now...free to go."  
  
"Free?" A seventh year Hufflepuff called out, mocking Dumbledore and the irony of his words. "How am I free to go if I can't leave this school? How am I free if I can't send letters to my family? Tell me, headmaster, if we're all trapped, and most likely doomed, how are we free?"  
  
Dumbledore's expression never changed. "To tell you the truth, Logan, considering the circumstances, you aren't free. What I should have said is that you may now leave this room, if you so choose, and I would like you to know that classes have been canceled for the rest of the day, and the owlry has been locked, and the owls removed. Anyone caught sending letters will have to suffer dire consequences. That is all."  
  
Madame Pomfrey sent her letter on the smallest owl she could find. She had scoured her letter, and the owl, much to its distress, with an antibiotic potion, just to be safe, but she still knew that sending this was terribly risky. The owl flew out, with ruffled feathers and a pouty expression, still damp from the potion. Poppy Pomfrey sighed as she watched her last hope clear the treetops.  
  
A/N: Who is the letter going to? Take a wild guess. You might be right. In any event, just wait for next chapter! 


	22. House Calls

It was a mess cleaning up the deep rift left by Jacques' death. He was a liked and respected man, a friend of the family, and because the cause of his death was so mysterious, pacifying the press was a nightmare. She had just stepped out to visit Lorelei Malkin and get a bite to eat, when she was nearly floored by the press. They had been congregating around the foreign ministries building, waiting for someone to come out, but she had hated being cooped up in there for so long. She had to get out. To be safe however, she had wrapped herself in a cloak of spells. She was completely disguised. New hair color, new eye color, she had changed her style of clothing and spoke in a British accent, the best she could muster after five years of living in the country. Her hair and eyes could be changed back with a flick of a wand, of course, but if she played this right, it would never have to come to that.  
  
Ah, the press. She was ready.  
  
"WWN. Ma'am, do you know anything about the mysterious death of the french minister, Jacques Lunaire, and the American doctor or her relation to it?"  
  
She blinked her now brown eyes and fluffed her now blonde hair. "I don't know anything you haven't already heard." She said simply and tried to walk away.  
  
Alas, the pesky reporter from the WWN would have none of that. He grabbed the back of her (borrowed) silk-lined cashmere robe and looked into her face. She stared him down.  
  
"Do you know the American doctor? Mr. Lunaire?"  
  
"Only distantly." Why wouldn't he leave?  
  
He finally gave up. "Good." he said, defeated. "May I quote you?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Margaret Cohen." And with that she walked off. When in doubt, use your middle and maiden name.  
  
Her first stop was at the post office. Due to the large amount of howlers being sent to her address, she had asked her friends to send her letters to the post office, to a Miss Margaret Cohen. She approached the desk and taped the small, silver bell sitting on the middle of the small counter.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
A small man entered from a back room, he was a nervous jittery man, one who probably shouldn't be working with hundreds of owls, but there he was. "Yes?" He looked at her a little bit longer than he probably should have, which unnerved her. She guessed the blonde hair did something for her, but still, she was married, and a mother. Alas, she had been forced to take off her wedding ring to avoid recognition. "Do you have any letters for Margaret Cohen?"  
  
"Margaret Cohen?"  
  
"Yes. That's my name." Her bare fingers tapped the counter in a bored fashion.  
  
"Nice to meet you Margaret. I haven't seen you around here." He held out his hand.  
  
She contemplated ignoring it, but decided she should just grin and bear it. She shook as she said "Pleasure to meet you as well, Mr.–"  
  
"Jordon. Adrian Jordan."  
  
"Ah, yes, Mr. Jordan. I don't really live around here, just poking about a bit. I was really interested in the shops around this quaint little area." She gestured vaguely, as if she was just a rich man's wife who often searched through small boutiques looking for over priced goodies. "Anyway, I've been staying for a couple days, and decided I should check and see if I have any mail before I left."  
  
"You're leaving?"  
  
"Oh, yes, most unfortunately." Darn it. She'd have to get a new disguise. "Er..about that letter?"  
  
He nodded. "Cohen. Right?"  
  
"C-O-H-E-N. Thank you oh so very much." The man rushed over, and rummaged through the "C" bin in a hurried fashion.  
  
"One." He said, breathless, as he retrieved the letter. It was stained and curled as if it had been wet. He handed it to her, then she thanked him, smiled graciously and left.  
  
She stood staring at the letter for a while, without opening it, trying to decipher the seal. She stared at it for a long while, until she noticed a curve that turned into a snake. Peering at the blurred and mangled lines for a moment longer, she noticed that it was a Hogwarts seal, and slid her [quite unlike her] long fake fingernail under the seal to loosen it up. At least that nail was useful for something. She opened the letter and began to read.  
  
"Dear Margaret,  
  
It's terrible, just terrible. I need so much help! The students are  
  
all getting sick and there is nothing I can do! Dumbledore has put the  
  
school under quarantine, and is letting nothing in or out. This is the last  
  
letter being sent from the castle until everyone is better. Or worse. We  
  
need your help. Please.  
  
-Poppy"  
  
She rubbed her eyes with her hands, careful not to stab herself with those awful fingernails. She would have to talk with Lorelei and tell her she would be missing lunch.  
  
Her bags packed, she stood and kissed her husband. "I'll see you soon." she whispered.  
  
"I hope so."  
  
She had to get out of the Foreign Ministries building to apparate, because of the anti-apparation charm around it. She stood in the center of Diagon alley and apparated to Hogsmede.  
  
The bags she carried had a spell on them, so they wouldn't be heavy, but still, they felt like lead and she was so weary. As she approached Hogwarts, she felt just this awful aura of death and sadness. The letter had most likely been a few days in traveling, and she could see the effects of those few days. It appeared that people hadn't even bothered to go outside, though they could probably venture out on the grounds. The grass had grown long without the anti-growth spell that needed to be used daily, and there were no footprints through the muddy path to Rubeus Hagrid's hut. Either he had gone into the castle, or had locked himself inside his domain with a large bottle of brandy, not to return until the winter holidays were over.  
  
A light snow began to fall, melting into her fake-blonde hair and landing on the lashes of her fake brown eyes. She finally made it all the way up the wide hill to the heavy oak door of the castle, and knocked three times.  
  
A withered old man answered the door. "Yes miss? How may I help you."  
  
"I need to enter."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
She looked around. She doubted anyone else could hear them, but to be safe decided to use her fake name. "Margaret Cohen."  
  
"Come in, doctor."  
  
Doctor Rebecca Margaret Cohen Jacobson walked slowly through the door.  
  
A/N: Didja see it coming? Didja? Didja? C'mon! Tell me! I want to know. 


	23. An Entirely Unwelcome Surprise

"Rebecca!" Poppy Pomfrey came rushing down the stairs, pulling off her medical use dragon hide gloves and mask. "You look so different from when I last saw you." She enveloped Rebecca in a huge hug.  
  
"That's because it's a disguise, Poppy. People still think I'm a murderer."  
  
Rebecca and Poppy had been roommates at Randolph's Medical Seminary of Magery, located in New Zealand. Poppy had only wanted to become a nurse, but Rebecca stayed on to become a doctor, much to her parents pride.  
  
"Oh, you're not a murderer." Poppy patted her on the arm and then began to lead her up the stairs. "You're staying with me."  
  
"I know I'M not a murder, Po," Rebecca said, allowing herself to be dragged up the stairs, "but I'M not the one I have to convince about my innocence!"  
  
"Of course not." Poppy said, as they arrived at the suite off the infirmary. The castle had managed to think ahead, and now another room lay there, with a door off to the left. "I guess that's your room. You can take off the awful disguise, get suited up, and then perhaps we can get started?"  
  
Rebecca opened the door and walked inside. It was nice, not very spacious, but the bed seemed to take up most of the space. It was enormous. Comfy-looking, too. "Actually I was thinking maybe I could check in on Rachel. Did she know I was coming?"  
  
Poppy was glad Rebecca couldn't see her face. She cringed, and bit her tongue before answering. "You can see her soon. But I think the patients take top priority."  
  
Rebecca nodded. "Yes, yes, you're right. I guess I'm just lucky Rachel isn't sick, right?"  
  
It was all Poppy could do to keep from telling her. But she didn't know how, so she kept silent.  
  
Rebecca walked out of her room wearing no more fingernails, back to her brown hair, blue eyes, and wearing regular heels and a cotton robe. She had pulled on her gloves, put on her mask, and tied her hair up to keep it out of her face.  
  
"I guess we should test 'em first just to be sure. I know you already did that, but since I'm the newest one arriving.."  
  
"And my superior" Poppy muttered under her breath. Poppy had wanted to study to be a doctor, really, she did, but an illness in the family made her miss a lot of class and only make nurse.  
  
"I have to do it as well, because it's a..."  
  
"Standard practise." Poppy finished, having pulled on her equipment too. "I know the drill dear. It hasn't been THAT long."  
  
"Of course, of course. Let's go."  
  
Both muggle and magical forms of medicine had borrowed aspects from each other. While magical medicine was usually less messy, and painful, it had borrowed the use of splints, bandages, and most recently, blood testing and vaccines. Muggle medicine had recently picked up some "potions" of their own, from the day when witches and wizards blended more with the non- magic kind, and herbal cures were more everyday.  
  
Poppy, or Po, as was her school-day nickname, held the marked vials Rebecca filled with the patients blood, using a self sanitizing painless syringe. Poppy was shaking, because she knew what lay at the end of the endless row of beds, waiting to have their arm pricked.  
  
Rebecca slowly filled up each new vial placed on her syringe. Poppy held the patient down, not really caring that much about the vials, because they were unbreakable, but did focus on keeping the labels covered.  
  
They had about three beds left when Dumbledore walked in. He wore a mask and a gloves as well.  
  
"Ladies?"  
  
"Hello." Poppy said, Rebecca merely nodded, until she finished the patient, and then she turned around to greet him.  
  
"Headmaster."  
  
"How's it coming?" Dumbledore appeared a little worried.  
  
"Oh, it's going swimmingly! I think I'm just going to finish up, then I'm going to talk to Rachel. I heard she didn't know I was coming."  
  
Dumbledore shot Madame Pomfrey a look, and mouthed "You didn't tell her?"  
  
Poppy shook her head and put a finger to her lips.  
  
"Well," Dumbledore said, I think you'll be seeing her very soon..." He began to back slowly out of the room. "Poppy, could you come with me please? Just hand her the last few vials, and let's have a little talk. Shall we?"  
  
They hurried from the room. Rebecca pulled the privacy curtain away from the second to last patient, took a sample, and then pulled the curtain away from the last one.  
  
All was silent except for the sound of the last vial dropping on the floor. It seemed to echo through the infirmary. Rebecca said "No, I can't." And then fainted dead away. 


	24. Doctors and Doorknobs

She woke in her new bed, feet propped up with pillows, her shoes and jewelry removed. Proper first aid. She slid the still damp washcloth off her forehead and blinked her eyes to clear her vision. There stood bother Po and Dumbledore, looking slightly worried, as well as anxious. Po was shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet.  
  
"You!" Rebecca spat in her direction. "You!"  
  
Poppy shrank back against the wall. "I'm sorry Rebecca."  
  
"Sorry?" Rebecca mocked. "Sorry?! Sorry doesn't cut it this time."  
  
"I know." Madame Pomfrey retreated even further into the safe sanctuary of the wall. But Rebecca wasn't done yet.  
  
"How can you do that? I mean I've been writing to you all this time, and you never even bothered to mention it to me? My own daughter?" Her voice was rising. "My own flesh and blood? Did you think it wasn't important enough to tell me about? Is that it, Poppy?"  
  
"No." Poppy felt very scared of the woman lying in the bed, and it showed. Rebecca was normally a very caring person, but when she got angry, she got angry.  
  
"I mean, I don't think I understand what you find so unimportant about the fact that my daughter is lying there, practically dying, and you expect me to just rush in there and continue on like there is nothing wrong!"  
  
Dumbledore stepped forward. "Dr. Jacobson, if I may point out, you were fine with all the other patients."  
  
"I KNOW I WAS FINE!" Rebecca tried to stand up, but the blood rushing around her head made her lay back down again. "But, Headmaster, if I may be honest, I didn't know those patients. I could care for them completely in an unbiased fashion."  
  
"Are you saying that you are biased when it comes to your daughter?"  
  
"Yes." Rebecca took a deep breath and sat up slowly, bracing herself by holding onto the side of the mattress. "Yes headmaster, I'm afraid I am. If this were just a cut, or if she had something I could easily heal, I would be fine. Fix her right up."  
  
"But you can't fix her up now?" Dumbledore walked all the way over and sat on her bed, prompting her to speak.  
  
"No! The last person I helped with this disease, well, died, and I don't want to be responsible for my own daughters death!"  
  
"It's not your fault, you did the best–"  
  
"My best wasn't enough!"  
  
"Dr. Jacobson, please, calm yourself. I'm sure Poppy can take care of your daughter if you handle the other patients."  
  
Rebecca and Poppy both nodded. Poppy reached out to comfort Rebecca, but Rebecca would not return her hug, and instead sulked like a small child.  
  
Harry heard through whispers, nods and glances that another doctor had been sent for and would stay in Hogwarts during the quarantine. Since there were so many here during the winter holiday, most of the time people sat around and talked, except for Hermione who was still studying Judaism, but had now moved onto American history.  
  
"It's just plain eerie." Ron remarked one snowy afternoon. "It's like she's trying to become Rachel!"  
  
"I know." Harry said, then, to change the subject, "speaking of Rachel, maybe we could go visit her and see who the doctor is."  
  
"Yeah," Ron said, bored, "we have nothing else to do, locked up in this bloody castle."  
  
They trekked up and over to the infirmary, or, rather, up to the sign that stated  
  
"WHEN ENTERING THIS AREA, ONE MUST HAVE PROTECTIVE GEAR. CONTAMINATED AREA AHEAD"  
  
Harry and Ron stood there for a few moments, until a someone walked out. They wore a robe that was entirely white, gloves, a mask and had their hair pulled up under a tight fitting white cap. Then the voice spoke.  
  
"Yes?" the voice was muffled and was hard to make out.  
  
Harry and Ron looked at each other, not knowing what to say. The figure undid the mask, and pulled off the cap. Harry and Ron's mouths opened.  
  
"Rachel's mom?" Ron clapped his hand against his mouth. He hadn't meant to say it.  
  
"Yes, Ron?" Mrs. Jacobson asked, straightening her hair a bit after she pulled off the gloves.  
  
"N-nothing." Ron stammered. "But I should probably call you Doctor now, shouldn't I?"  
  
"When teachers and other students are around, yes. Is there any reason you dropped by, or did you just want to see my smiling face?"  
  
"Well," Harry admitted, "We didn't know it was going to be you."  
  
"You didn't?" She seemed surprised. "Oh, well then. Pardon me for seeming rude, but then why ARE you here?"  
  
"We wanted to see who, um, you, were, and we were wondering," Harry's voice dropped to a whisper, "if we could see, uh, Rachel?"  
  
The doctor's face suddenly hardened. She refused to look at them and began wringing her hands in an agitated manner. "If you wish." She barely managed to whisper. "She would like that." Dr. Jacobson seemed unable to say her own daughters name, and pointed feebly to a closet while staring at the ground. "The gloves, caps, lab coats, it's all in there. Put them on and then you can come in. I should...get back to work." She walked away then, hands up by her face, until she had to stop, pull on the gloves and then go through the door to the infirmary.  
  
"Well," Ron said, glancing around. "Guess we better suit up, huh?"  
  
"Yeah." Harry felt unnerved by the whole ordeal. "Guesso." But he made no move to pull on the garments.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Normally, when you need to get dressed, you go and get the clothes. I'm just suggesting..."  
  
"Yeah." Harry waved his hand at Ron. He wasn't really listening. He was just thinking about what Dr. Jacobson had said, or not said. Body language was enough. That woman was not comfortable with the fact that her daughter was lying there and seemed almost unable to admit it.  
  
Ron was now fully suited up, and tapping his foot. Finally, he spoke to Harry. "Hello? Earth to Harry! Don't make me shove you into that coat backwards. Believe me, I will. Don't think I won't."  
  
"Fine. Fine." Harry pulled on the coat, then the cap, mask and gloves. The dragon hide in the cap and gloves molded to him like a second skin, and the mask fit snugly, but still let him breathe easily. He sighed and looked around, as if for a last pillar of hope to grab hold of. He was so nervous now his hands were shaking. He saw what the room in front of him did to Rachel's mother. He didn't want to know what it would do to him. But he had to go, and slowly he opened the door. 


	25. People...Change?

It was like entering a whole new world. There were rows and rows of beds, which were being filled at a ghastly rate, and between all the beds were long tables on which medical instruments had been placed. There were privacy screens around all the beds, but that didn't hide the sound of pained moaning and retching, or the scent of vomit and sweat, which hovered all around the room like a thick fog. Ron almost threw up, doubled over and breathing hard, but after a moment that feeling seemed to pass, so he stood back up and flashed Harry a weak thumbs up. They followed the name tags posted above the beds until they came to: "JACOBSON, RACHEL ALICE age: 15 gender: FEMALE house: GRYFFINDOR" Harry and Ron each grabbed a stool which had been placed against the wall and slowly walked behind the screen. Harry almost dropped his stool. The person laying on the bed was not his friend. "My G-d..." Ron whispered, nearly missing the stool when he sat down. Harry sank into his stool, feeling so heavy with shock disbelief that the stool almost fell over. "That isn't her." Harry said, slowly, unable to take it in. Ron looked at his friend. Why couldn't Harry grip reality? "Harry, it's Rachel." But even as he said the words he half didn't believe them. Sure, the name tag said Rachel, but any minute now, a happy brown haired American would come bouncing in to take them away from..from...from this thing, laying in a bed, face so pale it was like chalk, waxy skin stretched over its bones way too tight, breathing labored, eyes slightly open, yet not seeing, the white's a sickly yellow, and bloodshot. "Rachel?" He whispered. She let out a low moan. Ron reached out to touch her, but soon retracted his hand. Her skin seemed to be boiling. He half expected to see rising bubbles of blood forming under her skin, but knew that to be impossible. Right? "What? What's wrong?" Ron shook his head to clear his thoughts. "N-nothing." Then he thought better of his words. "She's just so....hot. Feverish. I dunno. It just freaks me out." "Let me see." Harry reached his hand out, and lightly touched Rachel's forehead. At that exact moment she let out a bloodcurdling scream. Harry pulled his hand away, but she continued to scream, a long, high pitched, unearthly scream that seemed to enter their brains and manifest itself in their consciousness. She wouldn't, or couldn't, stop screaming, and she never paused to take a breath. The scream didn't even seem to be coming from her, and the only clue that it did belong to her was the fact her mouth was open. Harry and Ron looked at each other for a moment before they ran from the room. Harry and Ron didn't go back to the infirmary, and they didn't tell Hermione about their brief trip there. Winter slipped away, Hermione kindling the Channukah lights in Rachel's place, chanting the prayers with an awful accent, stuttering and skipping over letters and words. She moped around all the time, didn't eat much, complaining that the death of her friend made her too sad to eat. Not to mention the fact that Rachel wasn't dead YET, but Hermione seemed to have given up hope. Even her schoolwork was starting to slip, if only a little. 


End file.
